


Infinite Cosmic Strings

by Shiverslightly



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 19th Century Lance, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Attraction, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Frottage, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Masturbation, Modern Keith, Oral Sex, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Sort Of, Time Travel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Voyeurism, background shallura - Freeform, sorry it was written before his orientation was revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-02-15 11:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiverslightly/pseuds/Shiverslightly
Summary: Keith is a timer. Has been timing since he was five-years-old, crushed by the weight of it. Never in control of where he'll go or what it might take from him, he lives in fear of what will happen next. Isolated and lost he drifts through a life he can barely call his own.Until he meets a blue eyed stranger from another time, a chance encounter that puts into motion events that question what the modern world knows of time travel and the capabilities of timers.Struggling to understand what's happened Keith finds himself questioning everything he's known. The more he lets this stranger into his life the more he realizes that maybe he's been doing things all wrong. That maybe he can be something more.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone ever watch/read the Time Traveller's Wife? The time travel in this fic is similar, hopefully you'll like it :)
> 
> Check out this [**awesome scene**](http://allexche.tumblr.com/post/175583770542/commission-for-shiverslightly-thank-you-for) from @allexche of their first meeting. Takes place in Chapter 1.

Running. It's pitch black, the darkness blinds his eyes, but he knows he's running. Can tell by the burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs but the terror clenching his heart spurs him onward. The ground is slippery, uneven, difficult to cross. Branches grab hold of his clothes, gouge into his skin, threaten to trip his feet but he can't stop. He knows they're somewhere behind him. Their snarls and snapping jaws barely heard over the blood rushing his ears. No matter how hard he pushes his heavy limbs, they get closer. He's not going to make it.

Pain shoots through his leg, sharp fangs tearing through muscle making him cry out. Suddenly he’s crashing hard, face skidding along the cold ground. He only has a moment to throw his hands above his face before they're on him. As a warm, solid weight lands heavily on top of him he wishes he were anywhere but here, that this life had never been his own. A powerful jaw clamps firmly onto his forearm, teeth sinking down to bone. Pain and nausea flood his senses when he cries out one last time before…

…Keith shoots up in bed, waking from his nightmare. Wild eyes search his surroundings frantically. The room is dark but he makes out the familiar, plain white walls of his bedroom. The dark oak night stand with his phone next to a glass of water sits beside him. With scrabbling fingers he reaches for the phone reflexively, turning on the home screen to read the date.

Dec 16, 2017  
4:00am

A soothing flood of relief washes through at the displayed numbers and letters, allowing his constricted throat to loosen as he takes large gulps of air. Exhales shudder out of him and he wills his heart rate to slow. Gradually it works.

It was just a dream. The ghost of a memory lived two years before. One that's been haunting him ever since. He feels it in the sore throb of his calf when jogging, in the all consuming panic as he times, _always_ in the back of his mind. No matter how much time passes or how much he wants to believe he's safe he lives it again so vividly in his dreams that the echo of his fear stays with him. Every single time he begins timing out he can't stop the dread and anxiety that take over before he fades away. It's the worst state of mind. There's no controlling it then. Not that he was ever really in control to begin with.

Taking another breath he runs his hands through long, jet black hair. The back reaching his shoulders at this point. For months his bangs have been hanging in his eyes but he can't bring himself to cut it. Impractical as it is, he kind of likes it and honestly he could really use some things that make him happy right about now.

He thinks about calling Shiro, the guy is an early riser after all. Looking back at his phone he unlocks the home screen and opens the TimerTracker app. People use it to keep track of their loved ones when they’re timing. There's only one name in his contact list. Clicking on it, disappointment settles in when the moving lines of Shiro’s vitals are light grey and not black. He's not in this time period right now.

Tossing his phone aside he briefly considers calling Pidge, the only other person he's ever confided in. But as supportive as she can be he's pretty sure a call this early in the morning would not be welcome, besides it's not like this is the first time this has happened. Though his doctor insists that talking about it will help he has yet to reap that reward for himself. When you've come close to death and accepted it, coming out alive can be hard to reconcile.

Skin still crawling with unease, anxiety demands that he do _something_. Throwing off the blankets he shuffles through the room, pulling his gym clothes out of the hamper.

As he steps out into the cold winter air he regrets his decision to attend a gym half way across town but at the time the idea of using the distance as his warm up had seemed like a good one. Running on a treadmill or around the indoor track was never something he could stomach, the boring monotony of it always failing to keep him out of his own head. So he takes a breath and begins to move his cold body forward, quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm and enjoying the changing scenery as he makes his way through the dark and mostly deserted city. 

Moving around frequently as a kid he never found comfort in any of the places he ended up. And despite living in this city for most of his twenties he’s never found that sense of home in it, often feeling like an outsider. This loss of belonging is something his doctor suggests may contribute to his lack of control but the idea of growing attached to one place makes him itchy. Being dependant on anything, even a place, is only setting yourself up for disappointment.

 

* * *

 

**Incoming text: Pidge**

**Where are you?**  
**I thought we were meeting for coffee**

 _Shit sorry, I fell asleep_  
_Be there in 10_

**No prob rough night?**

_Early morning_  
_On my way_

**I’ll be here**

 

* * *

 

The humidity of the coffee shop hits him like a wave as he enters from the cold. Pulling off his red plaid scarf, his eyes scan the room for his friend. The tiny space is packed full of people, many clustered around tables, the layers of their winter wear shed and piled high on the backs of chairs. The friendly chatter and smell of coffee works it's way into his flustered state, draining tension and putting him at ease. He hadn't meant to fall asleep after the gym but with a warm shower and clean fleecy sweats he couldn't resist the pull of his large comforter and crisp sheets. The luxury of sleeping in a bed is not always available to him so he takes advantage when he can.

“Keith.” A familiar voice rising above the rest breaks into his thoughts. “Over here!”

At the sound of his name he turns towards the source to find Pidge waving an arm in his direction. She’s nestled into a corner near the front windows, at a small round table for two, her jacket and hat draped over the chair next to her, which she removes so he can sit down. He smiles at her and gives a small wave in return, gesturing towards the coffee bar. She shakes her head and holds up a cup, mouthing ‘for you’ with a smirk. It was supposed to be his turn to pay but Pidge is never one to pass up the opportunity to be owed a favour. He chuckles and picks his way through the crowded tables.

“Americano?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Keith, I've only known you what? Since I was 12? I think I know your drink by now.”

“You've got enough things on your mind, I didn't think my drink would be that important.”

“Always underestimating yourself. You're my bud okay. Buds know each other's drinks.”

Snorting at the declaration the fond smile on his lips is sincere. “Thanks Pidge.”

“No problem. You look like you could use it.” She scrutinizes him from behind her large round glasses. Her hazel eyes taking in his ruffled hair and the puffy bags underneath his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Ah yeah, you know…,” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn't want to immediately start dumping his baggage at her feet but he also knows that she’s already guessed anyway. “Just the usual.”

“How often are you still dreaming about it?”

“Once a week maybe? Usually more before I time. So far it’s been every night this week.”

“When did you last time out?”

“Two weeks ago.” He winces and lowers his eyes to the table. He'd ended up timing to London, 25 years from now. Nothing had changed too drastically so he’d managed to blend in alright but timing forward always makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to know what awaits them. No matter what he does he can’t change anything, and some things he really wishes he could change.

“Probably means you’re due then.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah, probably.”

She reaches out and gently squeezes the arm he’s resting on the table in front of them. He looks up again to see the concern plain in her eyes. “What does Coran say?”

“Dr. Smythe?” Despite the fact that Pidge has been working at Altea Institute with his doctor, Dr. Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, for several years and he’s even spent time with the man in non doctor/patient settings he still feels uncomfortable calling him Coran. Even though the slightly eccentric yet brilliant doctor tries to insist.

Pidge laughs at Keith’s question. “Yeah, him.”

“He thinks I’m timing more frequently because I’ve lost control. Says that if I could stay calm when I feel it start I might be able to get that control back, maybe even stay in my own timeline for more than a couple weeks.”

Leaning back in her chair, Pidge pushes her shaggy light brown hair out of her face and exhales slowly. “You have been a little more… erratic since you were attacked,” she says softly.

“I know.” He groans in frustration at himself, clutching at his hair. “I should be better by now. This shouldn’t be so difficult anymore.”

“I think maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. You went through something traumatic, it’s going to take time.”

“Shiro’s been doing just fine.”

“Completely different situation and you know it. _You_ are not Shiro. No one has as much self control as that guy, it’s honestly kind of terrifying sometimes.”

“Well it seems to be working for him.”

“It’ll work for you too Keith. Just give yourself time.”

He leans back in his chair, tipping his head up to look at the ceiling and rubs a hand down his face, pushing an exhale out. “Okay.”

Sensing that as the end of the conversation thread, Pidge gives his arm one last squeeze and quickly changes the subject. “So… can we talk about me now?”

He can hear the way she forces her tone to sound teasing but he’s nothing but grateful for her efforts. “Please.”

“I think we’ve made a breakthrough on the communication device I’ve been working on.”

“Really? You’ve found a way to communicate through time?”

“Possibly. If we assume that cosmic strings are how you and other timers are able to travel through time, then it stands to reason that transmissions could also travel in the same way.”

“But that theory has never been proven, cosmic strings are hypothetical.”

“Oh Keith, how you doubt me,” Pidge smirks, the gleam in her eye obvious from across the room.

“It’s not that I doubt you, I’m just stating a fact.”

“I can get into the evidence but you dropped out of the Astrophysics program because it was ‘too boring’ so it probably won’t interest you.”

“Well it was,” he mutters. He hadn’t found the courage to admit to Pidge that he’d dropped out because of his timing. He was never that good at controlling it and the added stress of school and the intense course load had made him unpredictable. He was timing back then almost as much as he was now, the missed classes only adding to his overwrought nerves. Of course Pidge had suspected something was up but before she’d gotten too close to the truth he’d ended up timing into that barren, icy wilderness and almost died so… it wasn’t exactly the distraction he’d been hoping for, but it worked.

“You could always go back you know.” The words are so quiet he’s not sure he heard them right, but the shy drop of Pidge’s gaze gives her away.

“It wasn’t for me.” He aims for nonchalance but the words come out harsh, making him sound like an asshole. He thinks about taking it back, Pidge doesn’t deserve it, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation so he tamps down his remorse and sticks by his words.

“Whatever, I’m only trying to help,” Pidge mumbles, still not meeting his eyes.

“I know.” He searches his brain for something to say, to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. “I can come visit you next time I see Dr. Smythe. I’d love to see your theories in action.”

The surprise is clear on her face when she finally looks at him again. “Yeah? You’re always in such a hurry to get out of there.”

“Because I usually feel like a lab rat… but it’d be nice to see something else being studied for once.”

A smile creeps across her face once more. “You just _looove_ being the center of attention don’t you?”

“You know me,” he says with an eye roll.

The tension from their previous topics drain away and they fall into easy chatter. Pidge talks more about her work at Altea and the various projects her colleagues are working on and Keith tries to show support. In truth he feels the same way about these projects as he does about having a solid home, it'd be nice but he doesn't want to get his hopes up. You know, save himself the disappointment and all that. With not much going on in his own life they inevitably end up speculating on the whereabouts of Shiro.

“He's not here?” Pidge asks.

“No, I checked the app this morning. His vitals were good though so hopefully he's safe.”

“He's been timing forward a lot lately, maybe he's with that scientist he likes.”

They share a knowing smirk.

“I hope so,” Keith replies. Shiro deserves nothing but good things in his life. Even if a relationship between timelines is completely insane.

“Really? I didn't think you agreed with it.”

“Yeah? You know I want Shiro to be happy. I just don't see how it can work.”

Pidge hums in thought. “It's definitely difficult but if anyone can make it happen it'll be Shiro.”

Keith nods in agreement, thoughts drifting to the way he and Shiro met. To how different his life would look now without him. Yeah, he definitely wants him to be happy.

“Well I should head out.” Pidge says as she begins to collect her things from the table. “Probably got another long day in the lab.” Instead of looking upset by this she looks positively gleeful.

“Make sure you take some breaks this time,” he chides, knowing full well that once Pidge gets into her work she basically forgets everything else.

“Yeah, yeah. When’s your next appointment?”

“A couple weeks I think.”

“Okay well I’m gonna hold you to your promise and expect you to come visit me after.”

“I said I would.”

He smiles up at her as she wraps the last of her layers around her. Her matching plaid scarf to Keith’s red one, but in green, winds around her neck so many times it covers half her face and leaves her looking like a small child ready to play in the snow. He stands to give her a quick hug goodbye but she surprises him by squeezing her astonishingly strong arms around his waist, bringing him into a crushing hug.

“Take care of yourself Keith,” she muffles into his chest, then pulls away with a warm smile.

“You too.”

He’s touched by the amount of care behind her words, but also a little self conscious, thinking he must look pretty rough if she’s this concerned about him. Just as she reaches the door she turns around one last time to give him a wave and then she’s out on the cold street, leaving him to finish his coffee and contemplate the rest of his day.

 

* * *

 

He’s sore and exhausted by the time he trudges into the apartment. The motor oil on his hands leaves a smudge of black against the white handle of his fridge as he rummages inside for a drink. He hesitates for a moment, hand hovering over the IPA in the back of his fridge before he decides it’s probably not a good idea and instead reaches for the kombucha his friend from work had given him. The homemade brew is slightly cloudy and doesn’t look all that appealing, but his friend had insisted he give it a try.

“You have to try my kombucha,” he’d said one day while they were putting equipment away. “It’s literally the best drink if you want to be healthy.”

Keith now had his doubts but he’s working tomorrow and knows he has to at least try it before then. He takes a sip and pauses, not really sure what to think. It’s… interesting? Tangy and a little bitter and he’s not really sure why this is even a thing. But with the nightmares and uncontrollable timing he figures taking the healthy route can't hurt so he chugs it back and tries to think of some positive ways to spin his critique for his friend. ‘I love how it’s so different’ or ’it's like nothing I've ever tasted before’. 

After a day spent working on the bike he hopes will soon be road worthy he’s just about to head to the bathroom and wash off the grime when it hits him. His head splits with a pain that instantly throws his mind into chaos. 

Oh no, please no.

He lurches forward scrambling for his belt just before the nausea hits. His fingers curl into the beige leather holster just as his knees buckle and he pitches to the floor. He gasps as the familiar pull starts in the centre of his chest, sucking what feels like his insides and very soul into the unknown. 

Fuck. What if?

He tries not to think about it, strains himself with the effort to calm down. Sucking in breaths as his heart somehow manages to plummet into his stomach and pound against his chest simultaneously. He curls into himself, knowing it's a losing battle. Parts of himself have already left, the rest being sucked into time as though he was never solid to being with. He frantically tries to clear his mind, to let it take him. Just before the final wave hits, he squeezes his eyes tight against the blinding flash of white he associates with the void of nowhere and feels the rush of time like a furious swirl of wind through his hair.

Air punches out of his lungs as his body smack against the wood floor of another time. Wide eyes stare up at a dark wood ceiling, mouth gaping open as he imitates the motion of sucking in a breath though his lungs aren't yet ready to do so. The dizzy vortex in his head has yet to slow and he digs his nails into his biceps to wake up his nerves. This odd moment of suspension, where everything’s frozen, has always been his least favourite part of timing. His mind catches up with the jump before his body and for the briefest of moments he’s trapped in an agonizing stillness that begs to be shattered.

He registers a gasp and a feminine yelp somewhere in the room right before his throat opens and his chest expands, taking in the air he so desperately craved a second ago. It burns a path from his mouth to his lungs as he rolls to the side and retches, his nausea finally getting the better of him. He briefly notes his relief of an empty stomach when timing before a pair of legs go shooting past his vision, a long billowing skirt covering them.

Oh shit, that looks old fashioned.

With a speed so quick it took years to achieve he shoots to his feet, crouched and ready to sprint/defend/attack at a moment's notice. Whipping his head around he sees that he's timed right into a small room that looks to be used for storage. Wood crate boxes filled with bottles of alcohol with no label line the walls and the flickering light of an early incandescent light bulb bathes the small space in a soft glow. Movement beside a tall stack of crates catches his eye and he tenses as he sees a man quickly shoving the bottom of his white dress shirt into the pants of a dark suit. Once the shirt is tucked he fumbles to adjust the front of his pants and turns towards Keith with a flirty grin.

“My dear, if wanted to join us it would have been polite to knock first. Not simply barge in.”

He’s momentarily stunned. The man is tall and lean. Light brown, smooth skin giving him a beautiful sunbathed look. His jaw is sharp, the darker brown of his close cropped hair offsetting the colour of his eyes perfectly. Which are blue. The brightest, warmest shade of blue that Keith has ever seen. Looking at them reminds him of something he can't quite place. He's wearing a tight dark suit, the coattails of his jacket dropping to mid thigh and the gold chain of a pocketwatch dangles around his midsection, suggesting he’s probably in the late 19th century. Keith feels a warmth spread across his chest, threatening to fill the cracks before the moment is ruined when the man speaks again.

“You are rather lovely though. Perhaps we could pick up where she left off?” The guy actually winks and flashes a blinding smile, showcasing perfectly white gleaming teeth. But then his words register and...

“Ahhhh… excuse me?” Did he seriously just suggest?

At the sound of Keith’s voice the guy’s eyes go wide and his lips part in absolute shock. He begins to splutter. 

“Yo-you-you’re a man?!”

“What?” A red, burning blush spreads across Keith's face in embarrassment before indignant anger takes over. “Of course I am.”

“But your features… and your hair - it’s so long… you’re so-”

“It's not that long,” he snaps defensively, unconsciously reaching a hand up to touch his hair. 

The man continues to stare at him with those wide shockingly blue eyes glued to his face. The silence stretches awkwardly between them until Keith’s mind snaps back to reality and he realizes he needs to make a plan. There's no telling how long he'll be there for. He turns his back on the shocked stranger and moves towards the door, just about to walk through when he sees the room beyond. It's dark, large and most importantly jammed full of people. People wearing clothes similar to that of the guy in the room with him, some even in top hats. 

“Shit,” he whispers and leans back into the storage room, pressing himself against the wall so as not to be seen. He thinks back to his history classes and guesses that he might be sometime in the late 1800’s, maybe early 1900’s. There's no way he can just walk out there and blend with the crowd. He wracks his brain for a way out when the man speaks again.

“What, pray tell, are you wearing?”

That snaps him out of his internal panic. “What?”

“Your clothing, it’s quite strange.”

Keith looks down at his skinny black jeans, brown leather utility belt, black t-shirt and fingerless gloves, his standard outfit, a sort of timers uniform. He can pretty much blend into any time period in this. Except when he times back too far. Like now.

“They’re, ah…,” he searches his mind for a believable answer, “foreign.”

The guy raises an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

Keith just swallows and nods.

“And how exactly did you get back here? I am sure I locked the door behind me.”

“It’s none of your business.” Tired of questions he can’t answer without raising suspicions he uses his harshest tone, hoping this guy will get the hint. Unfortunately he doesn’t.

“It most certainly is my business. You interrupted my courtship of the young Miss Nyma. I have been wooing her for several months and was making progress before we were so rudely interrupted.”

This makes Keith snort with derision. “Sorry.”

The stranger watches him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t look it.”

Keith shrugs and turns his attention back to the storage room. He needs to get out of this place and find a secluded area to wait out his time here. He searches the room, looking behind the crates for a hidden door, or maybe a hatch in the floor. Finding nothing but the man in front of him and only one door, the one beside him, leading out to the main bar. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. Usually he tries to avoid talking to people, especially when the time gap is so wide but with no other ideas coming to mind he finds himself once again speaking.

“Um,” he clears his throat, not really sure how to phrase the question. “Where am I exactly?”

The man tilts his head in confusion, brows knitting together as he contemplates Keith’s question. Then suddenly his face perks up in a moment of clarity and Keith can almost see the cartoon light bulb above his head turn on.

“Oh!” He exclaims. “You’re one of those people who moves through time, a, uh, jumper?”

It’s Keith’s turn to be surprised. “A timer. How do you know about them?” He’s never met someone past the 1970’s who knew what a timer was.

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting one before. She was quite the enchanting woman. Said she was from the year 2031 though it seemed impossible.” The man’s eyes spark as he gazes off to the side, his mouth curling up in a dirty smirk, as if recalling some pleasant memory. Something about it pricks at Keith, it’s starting to seem like this guy gets around. A lot. Sure he’s got the looks to pull it off, but still.

“Well it’s not.”

“You don’t know where you are? Did you not choose to come here?”

“If I did, then I wouldn’t have asked.”

“But she said timers can go where they please. How did you end up here then?”

“Not all of us can control it.” Keith’s irritation is growing. Does this guy ever shut up?

Finally seeming to pick up on the metaphorical daggers Keith has been throwing his way the man falls silent, contemplating his next words. Thankful for the lapse Keith peaks out from behind the door once more. A long bar top runs down the length of the back wall, small tables littering the large open space with men and a few women leaving little room between them. His eyes scan the room a few more times but there’s no break in the crowd that he can find. No way for him to slip out undetected.

“You look quite lost.”

Keith whips his head around, temper finally getting the better of him. “No shit. I’m not in my own time and don’t know when I’ll get back. Happy?”

“Why would that bring me pleasure?”

“How should I know? You’re clearly getting something out of this.” He angrily waves his hand in the air, trying to indicate ‘this’.

“Perhaps I could help you.”

“Yeah you could. By shutting the hell up and leaving me alone.”

The man’s eyes burn with anger as he snaps his mouth shut, glaring hard at Keith. “Why must you be so rude? The other timer was much more pleasant to deal with.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don't need your help okay.” He doesn't. Keith has done this countless times before. He's been doing fine on his own for years.

The guy straightens his spine and tugs on the lapels of his jacket, anger still clear on his face.

“I think I know a lost cause when I see one so I'll just be on my way. Good day to you, _sir_.” He sneers the last word, suggesting his doubt that Keith deserves such a title.

There’s a brief moment where Keith finds himself actually regretting his words as the man breezes by. His shoulder knocks against Keith’s when he passes and the tingling left in Keith’s arm is surely his own anger at the contact. But the silence in his wake is calming and Keith takes a deep breath, waiting for his heart rate to slow. The nerve of that guy, did he honestly think he was helping?

His mind is still processing the whole encounter when a tugging vertigo thrums through his body once more. Despite the shock that it’s happening so soon he can’t help but feel the flood of relief even through his dread of timing. His eyes squeeze shut and the blinding whiteness overtakes him as he tries to quiet his thoughts once more. Nausea rolls in and he hunches over, trying to shield himself somehow. Just as he feels the pieces of himself fade away he distantly notices a twinge in his chest as though something there is stubbornly unwilling to leave. But instead of panic there’s a feeling that somehow, maybe, a small part of him belongs there. The pull yanks at him harder, dragging him through the void towards his own timeline, but not before that piece inside breaks off, clinging desperately to the storage room and leaving him for good.

 

* * *

 

**Incoming text: Shiro**

**Hey how’s it going?**

_It's going. You?_

**Good just got back and wanted to check in**

_You've talked to Pidge haven't you_

**No…**

_Shiro..._

**Yes I talked to Pidge she said you're not sleeping**

_I'm sleeping_

**Uh huh**  
**...**

_… just not well_

**Come jogging tomorrow?**

_You know you don't have to worry about me_

**Who says I do?**  
**I could use a running partner**

_I don't think you can keep up old man_

**We'll see about that**  
**Meet me by the bridge at 6**

_I thought you were worried about my sleep_

**Exercise helps**  
**You don't sleep in anyway**

 _Fine_  
_I'll see you tomorrow_

 **See you then**  
**Get a good night's sleep ;)**

 

* * *

 

“I'm telling you the guy would not shut up!”

Beside him Shiro chuckles quietly, the misty cloud of his breath shooting out in a puff against the cold air. The trail along the river is mostly deserted this early in the morning and sparkling with patches of frost where the low sun has yet to reach. They've already worked up a modest sweat thanks to Shiro’s somewhat faster pace than normal. No doubt his retaliation for Keith’s old man dig yesterday. He's not complaining though, he’s really more of a sprinter than a jogger, lacking the patience for slow and steady. He craves the burn in his lungs and shake in his legs, the feeling of pushing past his limits.

“Well he knew you were a timer, I’ll bet he was curious. You should be thankful he wasn't afraid.”

Keith snorts. “Probably would've left sooner if he was though.”

“Sounds like you got rid of him pretty quick.”

“Yeah after yelling at him.”

Even winded from running the click of Shiro’s tongue is obvious. He peers over at Keith, gray eyes full of disappointment. “You don't always have to be a jerk, you know.”

“The guy was a prick.” Keith’s quick to defend. “I couldn't figure out how to get out of there while he kept running his mouth.”

“Why'd you have to get out of there?”

That gives him pause. “What?” 

“You were already in a quiet, contained room. Why leave it?”

“Ah, because that guy was there.”

“He must have really gotten under your skin.” Another breathless chuckle leaves Shiro. “I've never heard you talk so much about someone before.” 

Keith looks over at Shiro, startled by his statement. The amusement is clear on his face. The wide smile and crinkles of his eyes softening his features, which often look severe thanks to the raised, red scar that spans across the bridge of his nose. A reminder of Shiro’s own, not so pleasant past. His shoulders shake a bit in silent laughter. It only makes Keith fume harder.

“Shut up, he was just annoying.” He tries to keep the petulance out of his reply but it's there.

Done with talking, Keith sends Shiro a challenging look, waiting for eye contact before he narrows his eyes and begins to pull away in a sprint. For a moment it’s just Keith, flying down the walkway, the calm river and quiet city landscape passing along until the large, muscular form of Shiro shoots by. Grinning to himself Keith digs down and finds the power in his legs to move even faster, catching Shiro and just barely inching ahead until they both naturally begin to slow, muscles sore and breaths fast and heavy. Keith turns his smile to Shiro causing them both to laugh as they fall into a slow cooling jog, taking a few minutes to calm their wildly beating hearts before stopping at a nearby bench along the path. It's only when they start to stretch that Shiro broaches the subject once again.

“You know, it's okay to ask for help sometimes.”

“Sorry?” Keith's brain, in a haze of post workout endorphins, isn’t quite sure what he's talking about.

“You don't always have to do it alone. You can let people help you.”

He pouts, not wanting to agree but also knowing that any attempt to argue will just get drawn out. “Sure.”

“Keith I'm serious.” Shiro steps closer, laying a familiar hand on his shoulder. Keith swears that half of their two year friendship consists of shoulder pats and supportive heart to hearts. If it wasn’t so sappy to say out loud he might actually admit he liked it. “You don't have to push everyone away.”

“I don't.”

Shiro gives him a stern, cut the bullshit type of look.

“Not everyone,” Keith amends. “I let you in didn’t I?”

An eye roll and exasperated sigh leave Shiro as he responds. “Just… think about it.”

They fall silent once again, comfortable just to be in eachother’s presence. It's something that Keith never thought too much about before the idea of letting people in was brought up. Although it’d only been a couple years, it felt like he’d known Shiro all his life from day one. His quiet company and unassuming nature made it easy for Keith to trust, which is particularly surprising considering he can count on less than one hand how many people fall into his trustworthy category.

Finishing up they make their way towards the parking lot of the park they’ve just been jogging through. Keith bites his lip, not sure how to bring up the thing that's been bugging him ever since he got back. He's not even sure how to word it properly but he figures if anyone might understand it would be Shiro.

“Have you ever felt like... a part of you has been... left behind?... When timing, I mean.”

“A part of you?” Shiro turns to look at him, pushing the white forelock of his hair out of his eyes. Revealing dark furrowed eyebrows and a confused look on his face.

“Kinda? But at the same time it also sort of... felt like it belonged there?”

Concern quickly replaces confusion. “Keith, what do you mean?”

Lifting his shoulders into a shrug he drops them with a defeated breath. He's not explaining himself right. “I don't know, this thing just like happened when I started timing back. When I was fading out it just felt like a piece sort of stayed where it was.”

“Like a finger?” Keith doesn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes drop to his hands.

“God no! More like a feeling. Like a part of me that's not physical.”

“Was it painful? Do you feel like something's missing?”

“Not exactly… it didn’t hurt or anything but I do feel kinda weird now, like maybe a little hollow or something?” He’s starting to regret bringing this up, a headache building because his brain is actually sore from trying to describe what happened. “I dunno, I guess it’s just… whatever.”

“I don’t think it’s whatever Keith. I think you should probably talk to Coran about it.” Shiro’s eyes are kind but stern, trying to be commanding while not actually forcing anything.

Keith groans and goes for the redirect. “Coran? Not you too.”

Amusement finds it way across Shiro’s face. “He’s been following you since you first started timing, back when you were… 5? I think that warrants a first name basis by now.”

“He’s just doing his job. It’s not like he cares or we’re friends or anything.”

An exasperated sigh. “And we’re back to that whole trusting people thing again.”

“Shiro,” Keith couldn’t even stop his eye roll if he wanted to. “Do you ever turn off the dad mode?”

“Someone’s gotta look out for you kiddo.” He playfully pushes Keith with his elbow, punctuating his statement with a wink and broad smile.

Keith starts to break off, heading for his beat up but beloved red Corolla. “Whatever.”

Shiro grabs his arm to pull him back. Keith turning to look curiously over his shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?” His tone is quiet and serious, all joking forgotten.

Keith offers him a placating smile, trying to make it as wide as possible. Fuck, he doesn’t do this much, the whole fake smiling thing. The stretch of his lips feels foreign enough that he’s sure the smile must be a twisted version of the real thing. “Yes I am. Stop worrying or you’ll go completely grey.”

Shiro smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Yep his fake smile must have been obvious. “Okay Keith, I’ll see you around.”

Heart sinking a little that he couldn’t reassure his friend, he simply nods his head and ducks into the car. Allowing Shiro to become such an important part of his life isn’t something he’ll ever regret. But as he drives away he can’t help but feel the crushing pressure of knowing there’s one more person in his life he’ll probably always disappoint.

 

* * *

 

The next few days pass by in the blur of routine. He goes to the gym, works on his bike, has a couple shifts at work and realizes that he hasn't had one nightmare since his last time. He and Pidge had planned to game that evening but unsurprisingly she'd cancelled a few hours before due to an “exciting development” at work. So here he was settling into the small grey couch in his living room, flicking through his Netflix list and trying to decide on a movie. Settling for Okja because that “super pig” sure looks a lot like a hippo and who doesn’t love hippo’s? And also, Steven Yeun, because he’s weak for that man, especially his heavenly, raspy voice. 

The room darkens and he listens to bells tolling as the movie begins. Deciding that popcorn is needed right about now he rises to make his way to the kitchen when the couch suddenly rises up to meet him as the chaotic dizzy and insistent pull swirls within him once more.

No, not again. It’s too soon.

It’s only been days since the last one and he’s never timed this close together before. He gropes blindly into the plush cushions, desperate to anchor himself. The spinning sickness feels even worse without the usual recovery time and a sob wracks through his body as he struggles for composure. Anxiety twists through his gut one last time before he’s thrown through time, the bright light burning behind his closed eyelids.

His feet fall sturdy to the ground and a solid weight presses against his back as his senses slowly start to filter in. For a moment he worries he’s stuck in the void, light still bright on his face, until he notices the sounds begin to swell around him. It’s the clopping of horseshoes on cobbled streets that force his eyes to fly wide open and peer around. He’s in a tight alleyway between buildings, brick walls rising tall in front and behind him. The warm sun of summer and a thick wave of humidity crowd in, stifling his breath.

Cautiously he turns to the right, scanning for threats but thankfully he appears to be alone. At the end of the alley horses pulling buggies trot by, their drivers casually holding the reigns. He does a double take as the appearance of one of the drivers starts to register. They’re wearing a loose fitting white collared shirt, beige suspenders attached to light cotton pants and a bowlers hat, black with the top curving in a natural shape, small brim curling up just slightly atop his head.

Shit. Was he back in the 19th century?

What was going on? He can’t even remember the last time he’s gone to the same time period, let alone twice in a row. Normally his timing is all over the place. Completely confused and heart still racing he leans his head back against the wall, briefly closing his eyes.

God he hates this.

He swallows hard and sucks in a deep breath, letting the sunlight dance across his face in warming flickers. A sheen of sweat forms across his forehead, clumping his bangs together.

Opening his eyes once more he looks to the opposite end of the alley, a dead end rising up to greet him. There's doors on all three of the buildings surrounding him. Two at the end of the alley and one on other side, though none have any markings on them. For all he knows they could lead straight into trouble. Most usually do. But he can't just sit there and hope his time in this century will be as brief as the last so he straightens his shoulders and stalks further down the alley, knees bent and ready to sprint at a moment's notice. He cautiously reaches his hand towards the nearest door when it's suddenly flung wide, a tall figure pushing through.

“Yes, I shall look into the matter and return shortly,” the figure calls over his shoulder before turning to close the door.

His muscles freeze at the sound… that voice. That rich, smooth, lilting voice instantly raising his heartbeat as recognition kicks in. Too shocked to react he soon finds piercing blue eyes locked on his face, surprise taking over the expression of the dark skinned man before him.

“It's you.” Keith hisses it more like an accusation than a statement. The man’s eyes are still wide in shock, his lips parting into a quiet ‘oh’ before he finally registers Keith’s tone.

“And it's you.” Bright eyes narrow, mouth pressing into a thin line before the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. “Couldn't stay away from me, hmm?”

Keith rolls his eyes, body going rigid. “Don't flatter yourself.” But he can't stop the heat from rising to his face.

“Well it's quite the coincidence then.”

The sentence hangs between them awkwardly. Because really what are the odds? Keith's never been to the same place twice in a row and certainly never run into the same people… correction, _person_. And definitely not one so infuriatingly smug and goddammit, hot. The suit clinging tight to the man's body is giving Keith a slight hint of the sleek and probably well toned body underneath. But he’s quick to shut that shit down because the guy is an ass and Keith doesn't need this right now. He turns away quickly heading back in the direction of the street.

“Where are you going?” The man shouts, rushing to catch up and grabbing hold of Keith's wrist. The heat of his fingers burn into Keith's skin and he jerks his hand away almost violently.

“Don't touch me.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend.” He backs away, hands held up in front of him.

Keith lets out a frustrated sigh. Great, now who's the ass?

“It's fine. I - I'm sorry too… for snapping. You just caught me off guard.”

“Again I apologize.” To further his point the guy actually bows towards Keith in apology. “I just thought that perhaps you might need some help.”

Keith's face automatically twists into a scowl but then Shiro’s words come rushing back to him, _”you don't have to do it alone, you can let people help you.”_ Can he? Can he really just accept the help of some guy he hardly knows?

As if reading his mind the guy continues. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lance. Lance McClain, heir to McClain Tobacco.” He bows again, bright eyes never leaving Keith's face.

“U-uh,” Keith stutters, momentarily stunned by the display. “I'm Keith.”

“Just Keith?” Blue eyes twinkle as the eyebrows above them raise in question.

“Kogane… Keith Kogane.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Keith Kogane.”

Lance extends a hand which Keith takes in his own, hesitant. But Lance’s grip is firm and sure, formally shaking their hands with a wide, open smile on his lips. His entire face lights up, softening his sharp features. Keith finds himself blushing again as he fights his own smile down. They grip hands a touch too long before Keith clears his throat and begins to pull away, Lance’s soft fingers trailing down his palm before dropping off.

“Mr Kogane tell me, how long do you plan on visiting this time?”

“Uh, just Keith is fine. And I don't really know.”

“You don't know?”

Keith feels his irritation rise. “I already told you,” he grinds his teeth. “I don't have control over it.”

“Ah yes, you did mention that.”

Lance glances up towards the street behind Keith. It's the first time he's taken his eyes off him since grabbing his wrist, the loss of that attention stirs something unpleasant in Keith's chest. He watches as indecision dances across Lance’s face for a beat, and then those eyes are back on him as determination settles in.

“Then I insist you accompany me to my estate.”

“Your estate?” Keith's eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Are you serious?”

“Quite. You can't hang about this alley all day just waiting.”

Keith searches the face before him, trying to calm his unease. His ever present need for self preservation is telling him not to trust. That it can only lead to danger. But despite the confident air and cocky demeanour that Lance puts forth he can't help but feel the honesty coming off of him. His gaze is open and non threatening. He doesn't have to help Keith yet here he is offering. Even after the way Keith treated him last time, throwing his offer of help back in his face.

“I promise you will be safe there. No harm will come to you in my presence.”

Keith bites his lip and shoves down his fears. Lance is right after all, he can't stay in this alley forever. “Okay,” he swallows to rid the shakiness from his voice. “Thank you.”

Lance flashes him a blinding smile, literally. Keith has to look away before his poor face burns once more. “So you can be agreeable. That's good to know.”

A growl leaves Keith’s throat but he pushes back his nasty response. It only causes Lance to chuckle as he shrugs out of his suit jacket.

“Here put this on. It should disguise you well enough as we make our way to the coach.” He extends his jacket towards Keith who stares at it, shocked. “Is there a problem?”

“No!” Keith shoots a hand out, quickly grabbing at the offering. Suddenly he feels the need to explain himself. “Sorry, I’m just… not used to having help.”

“Well you certainly don’t make it easy,” Lance teases with an exaggerated air.

Clumsily throwing the jacket over his shoulders, Keith thrusts his arms through the sleeves and grimaces when his fingers just barely reach the hem. Another chuckle from Lance has him sending the man a warning glare as he straightens his back and tugs on the front to secure the jacket.

“It’ll have to do.” Lance begins to walk towards the street. “Follow me.”

Spinning and hurrying to catch up Keith keeps pace, swallowing his apprehension. They reach the street and Lance barks out a greeting, gesturing towards a coach parked just to the side, an old, weathered man reading a newspaper perched atop the drivers box.

“Blaytz we’re all done here. What's say we head home?”

The man looks up from his paper, smile on his face faltering into a look of confusion as he notices Keith next to his employer. Noticing the man’s gaze Lance is quick to explain.

“Mr Kogane here shall be accompanying me. He is to be my guest for the evening.”

“Of course sir.” The man smiles once more, jumping from his seat to open the door of the coach for them.

Lance motions for Keith to move ahead. A brief flash of panic zings through his body, feeling the thrum tingle down to his fingertips. He’s never put himself in this position before, never blindly trusted someone, _a stranger_ in a time he knows nothing about. Heart beats rocket in his chest, the urge to turn and run almost overpowering until there’s a sudden soft, warm pressure against his low back. Somewhere in his heated mind he registers it to be a hand, a light insistence snapping him back to the present. He tilts his head to see Lance, the corners of his mouth curving up just slightly, a soft reassuring look painting his face.

“After you,” he gently maintains, pushing ever so slightly against Keith. 

His hands are sweaty as he finally moves towards the cab, reaching to brace against the door as he pulls himself inside. He attributes his still racing heart to this moment of vulnerability and not the enticing way Lance’s eyes pool into a soothing, warm azure with flecks of navy peeking through.

Definitely not because of that.

Lance is quick to follow inside, instantly making himself comfortable on the seat opposite Keith, so that they’re facing each other inside the surprisingly spacious coach. Unable to meet his gaze Keith looks out the window, taking in the street before them. It’s filled with life. Streetcars rumble past one side while horses pulling carriages and wagons trot down the other, people darting between them all as they make their way to the businesses flanking both sides. Further down he can make out a large statue, the figure of a man standing above a pedestal in the middle of the road. The coach lurches to life and he throws a hand out to the side, minimizing the jostle.

A quiet snicker drifts his way. “Not used to travelling by coach?”

Lance is watching him intently, amusement lingering on his features.

“That obvious?” Keith snarks back.

Lance hums quietly to himself, eyes travelling over Keith with a look he can only describe as appraising. Not sure what to say Keith clears with throat awkwardly.

“You never did tell me where we are.”

“I’m sorry?” Lance’s eyes snap upward to his face, seemingly coming back to himself.

“Last time we met. You didn’t tell me where we were.”

“Right! But that was months ago, I’d nearly forgotten.”

“Really? It’s only been a week for me.” For some reason the statement embarasses him.

He moves his gaze back towards the window. There’s a stretch of silence before Lance finally answers.

“You’re in New Orleans, 1891.”

Keith doesn’t even know what to do with that information. 1891. A full 126 years into the past. He usually doesn’t time so far back, as far as he knows, no one usually times this far. Then again he also doesn’t usually time back to the same place. What is going on? It’s been an unusual week, that much is painfully clear. Letting his eyelids drop he tries to shut out the world.

“When are you from?”

Keith sighs, the years between them suddenly feeling vast. “2017.”

When Lance says nothing in return he chances a glance towards him, finding the man to be deep in thought. “That's quite a length of time.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, leaning his forehead against the glass of the window.

Lance remains silent for the rest of the ride and Keith watches as the crowded streets and tall stone built buildings begin to space into quiet house filled neighbourhoods. Large Victorian homes stand proud along the street, yards and trees littered between them. The coach begins to slow as it pulls up to a particularly grand and stately looking house.

A winding path leads to wide steps, carrying up to a porch that wraps around at least the entire front half of the home. A large door stands in the centre, framed by white columns running up the full height, giving way to a sloping A framed roof. It reminds Keith of the old homes his mother used to stop in front of and gaze at longingly, whispering a dreamy, “maybe someday,” before tugging his tiny hand along.

At the sight of the house Lance perks up in front of him, clapping his hands. “Here we are. My humble abode.”

Keith raises a mocking eyebrow. “Humble?”

“Well,” Lance huffs. “What is the point of having money if you're not going to spend it, hmmm?”

Normally Keith would find that kind of comment irritating and he swears he still does but something about the way Lance says it, in that small self deprecating kind of way, draws a bark of laughter out of him. He's rewarded with another blinding smile and a wink before Lance is jumping down from the coach and ushering him along.

“Thank you Blaytz, be sure to get yourself a nice supper after taking care of my horse.”

“Yes sir,” the old man nods, sending a last curious glance at Keith before turning back to the waiting coach and said horse.

Keith follows Lance into the house, eyes wide as he takes in the fine furnishings adorning the space. Everything looks new and plush and well cared for, Keith doesn't know why but he lets out a low whistle as Lance's obvious wealth becomes apparent.

“It is rather nice isn't it? McClain Tobacco is one of the biggest players this side of the Mississippi. My father has done well for us.”

“Us?”

“My family and I.” Lance gestures towards a large oil painting hanging in the foyer. 

Keith is quick to spot Lance standing tall and proud in the middle of the crowd. Next to him is a man who looks uncanningly similar but with brown eyes and darker hair, holding his arm out to a woman at least a foot shorter but clearly making up for her lack of height with stately presence. On each side of the three stand two more girls, making 4 in total. By Lance's side is a skinny, lanky girl reaching about shoulder height to Lance, her light brown hair hanging in loose curls. Her hand rests upon a small girl who looks to be about 8, a quirky sort of smile playing on her face. On his mother’s side two young girls, maybe around 5 stand together, matching perfectly, right down to the same cowlick sticking their bangs up in the air. Keith laughs lightly under his breath.

“Ah the twins,” Lance remarks, noticing where Keith eyes are trained. “I assure you they are even more unruly in person.” The fond cadence of his voice betrays his eye roll.

“Your family… are they here?” His nerves twitch at the size of Lance’s family. Being noticed by that many people could be a problem.

“You are in luck. My mother and sisters have all gone North to visit my aunt. And my father has business in Baton Rouge all week. It is just us, Blaytz and Madame Ryner, whom you've yet to meet.”

Lance turns his head towards the back of the house. “Madame Ryner, are you here?”

“Yes, yes, mon chaton.” A kindly voice calls with a light, French accent. “I'll be out in a minute.”

No sooner have the words been spoken when a large woman appears from the back, wiping her hands against an apron as she comes forth.

“Dear Lance, how did business go today?” She stops in her tracks as she notices Keith in the room.

“Quite well, thank you.” Lance’s smile is proud. “Madame Ryner, can you please show my guest, Mr Kogane to a room?”

Madame Ryner’s eyes widen as she takes in Keith's appearance. His too large suit jacket and unfamiliar clothing probably looking strange to her. Unsure of what to do he returns her stare, hesitantly trying to give a reassuring smile.

Her face is kind, crinkles about her eyes and forehead, suggesting her laugh lines are well used. Her eyes sparkle with the same gleam as Lance’s sometimes do, a curious amusement lighting them. Hair pulled into a tight bun, the roots beginning to gray at her temples as the rest remains a pale shade of blonde, she bows towards Keith.

“Right this way Monsieur Kogane,” she sweeps her hand through the air, motioning it up a staircase leading to the upper levels of the house.

He sends Lance a look of uncertainty, apprehension drawing his lips together.

“I have a bit more business to attend to and you must be tired from your travels,” Lance vaguely states. “You can retire for an hour or so. Madame Ryner will fetch you when supper is ready.”

For a minute he's torn between staying below where he can more easily guard for trouble and doing as Lance suggests, but in the end the weariness from today's events begins to seep through. He tries not to run at his sore eyes as he nods his head in assent. Stepping towards the stairs that Madame Ryner is now half way up he pauses to catch Lance's attention.

“Um, thank you Lance.” He tries to sound gracious, needing him to understand just how significant his kindness towards Keith has already been.

Lance is momentarily startled by his earnest acknowledgment. “It's… my pleasure, Keith.” Another warm smile slides his way.

Unconsciously biting his lip at Lance’s soft tone, he turns and follows Madame Ryner to the second floor and down a dimly lit hall to a room at the end. It's large and grandly furnished. A four poster bed sits in the middle, chaise lounge underneath a large window with heavy, embroidered curtains framing it. Armoire and shorter dresser line the opposite wall, along with a small bookshelf packed with books.

“Should you need anything, Monsieur, please do not hesitate to ring.” Madame Ryner inclines her head towards a bell sitting on top of the dresser before ducking back out the door with another bow, clicking it into place behind her.

Unable to resist it’s pull Keith makes his way towards the bed, slowly sinking into the plush mattress as he sits on the edge. Lance was right he is tired from his travels but there’s no way he can think of actually resting while he’s here. Letting down his guard in a house he doesn’t know the layout of, or all the exits, would be foolish.

Yet… he lies down, shuffling further inwards… it wouldn’t hurt just to lay down for a _little_ while.

Intending to close his eyes for the smallest, tiniest, briefest of moments, just to soothe their sting, his last remaining tension drains away. Suddenly realizing it’s actually been slowly draining since the second he put his trust in Lance, he marvels at the foreign sensation, not even noticing his mind begin to quietly slip under.

 

* * *

 

He bolts upright with a start, hands quickly pulling away from his shoulder.

“Monsieur, I am sorry to wake you but dinner is ready.” Madame Ryner steps away from the bed looking sheepish. “Shall I tell Monsieur McClain to dine without you?”

“No.” Is that his voice sounding so rough? He clears his throat. “Ah no, thank you. I’ll join him in a minute.”

He rubs his eyes and tries to smooth down his hair as the kindly housekeeper politely waits outside for him. He fell asleep. He actually fell the fuck asleep.

Seriously, what was happening to him?

Trusting strangers, sleeping in beds with people he doesn't even know still in the house. Deliriously he wonders if this is what Shiro meant when he’d mentioned asking for help. Surely his friend didn’t think Keith would have actually taken his advice this far. In Keith’s mind this kind of trust was bordering on insanity. Steeling himself and fortifying his guard he rises from the bed, fluid motions bringing him to the hall, then down to the dining room where Lance sits alone at a ridiculously large wooden table. He snorts before he catches it.

“What is it?” Lance questions. He’s changed into looser, casual clothing, shirt sleeves rolled up and the top unbuttoned, revealing the slightest peek of prominent collarbones and a smooth tan chest. A wild urge to touch flashes through Keith before he internally swears at himself. Dude, get a grip. Across the way Lance seems to be having his own internal struggle, a light rouge showing against his dark cheeks.

“The table’s kinda… large for just us, no?”

“Perhaps but you’re forgetting, I do have a rather large family,” Lance grins slyly and Keith takes a seat across from him. 

“Hmmm, must be overwhelming.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s been just me for so long, I can’t imagine living in a house with so many people.”

“What do you mean ‘just you’?”

Keith drops his gaze to the table, clamping his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. His sad, lonely childhood isn’t exactly uplifting dinner conversation. Nor is it anything he ever wants to talk about and yet somehow Lance managed to coax it out of him in a matter of seconds.

“It’s nothing,” he’s quick to say. When the silence lasts longer than is comfortable he finds himself unbelievably filling it.

“My mom passed away when I was younger and I never knew my dad. As soon as I hit 18 I got a place to myself, moved around.” Lance is sending him those sad, pitying eyes he hates so much. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Sensing his reluctance to elaborate Lance appears to let it drop. Mercifully changing the subject when he sees Keith swat at a fly in the room.

“Aren’t you afraid of changing something?”

“I’m sorry?” Keith brings his attention back to Lance, that damn fly disappearing from his sight.

“I mean doing something here in the past. Aren’t you afraid that you might somehow change the future?”

Keith chortles. “You mean like a butterfly effect?”

“A what effect?”

“A butterfly effect. The idea that even the smallest change can result in large consequences. For instance, me killing an insignificant fly in 1891 might lead to the world being enslaved by technologically superior aliens in my time.”

Lance frowns for a moment, mulling over Keith’s words. “I suppose.”

“It's not possible. Time seems to move in a loop, me being here now, in this time, is something that’s already happened in the past. Even though for me it’s happening in the present, technically this has already taken place. There’s nothing I can do to change it, it just… is.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Keith sighs, he’s never been good at laying things out for people. If he gets it one way he can never think of other ways to phrase things so different minds might understand. “Pidge would explain this better,” he mumbles to himself.

“What’s a Pidge?”

“Pidge is my friend. She’s a scientist and good with words. You’d probably like her.” He’s not really sure why he added that last part in.

It makes Lance smile though and this time Keith notices a tiny dimple crease his cheek. Wanting to steer his mind away from such thoughts he moves the conversation towards a simple topic, asking Lance more about the tobacco industry and his family’s role. Lance answers the questions politely and elaborates when needed but it’s clear he’s not particularly enamored with his line of work. Worried he’s boring him Keith eases up on the questions as they near the end of their meal.

When it’s over Lance stands to his feet, stretching his arms high to the ceiling.

“It’s been a long day. I think it best if we both get a good night's rest.”

“Sure.” Keith agrees, though he’s questioning the wisdom of falling asleep in the unknown house before he’s even on his feet. “Do you think - maybe - you could give me a tour of the house?”

Blinking in surprise Lance quickly recovers, an easy smile across his face once more. “Sure, follow me.”

He leads Keith through the house, visiting the kitchen, parlour, and housekeepers quarters before moving onto the library and bedrooms located on the second floor. Keith carefully notes the location of each exit and where everyone in the house will be sleeping, silently mapping the way in his head. Judging from the gleam in Lance’s eye he knows something is up but uncharacteristically keeps his mouth shut on the topic. They reach Keith’s room and Lance hovers in the doorway.

“Is everything to your liking? Are you comfortable here?”

“Oh.” The sincerity in his voice throws Keith for a loop. No one’s ever cared much for his comfort, definitely not after knowing him only a few hours. “Yeah it’s great. Really Lance… I can’t thank you enough.” He smiles true and gentle.

“Again it’s my pleasure. It’s not everyday one meets another from the future.” Lance hesitates then rubs the back of his neck shyly. “Do you think, you might still be here in the morning?”

He doesn’t know. If he could just get a grasp on this whole timing thing, really figure out how it works, then he could give well meaning people like Lance the answers they need. He could give himself the answers he needs.

“I’m sorry, I’m not really sure.” The crestfallen look on Lance’s face does weird things to his heart. He scrambles to somehow make it better. “But I - I hope so.”

Unbearable shy at his confession he quickly looks to the floor and misses the quick jerk of Lance’s head and resultant radiant smile. When Keith finally looks back up there’s only a smug, confident look in place.

“Well I shall hope to see you soon, Keith.” Lance nods his head and moves down the hall to his own room a few doors down. “Good night then.”

“Good night Lance,” Keith utters quietly, stepping into his room and closing the door before the other man has a chance to see the red creeping steadily up his face.

A sad, uneasy feeling settles over Keith as he tries to make himself comfortable on the bed. After a few minutes spent attempting to force his body into relaxing he gives up, padding over to the bookshelf and crouching to read the volumes. It’s a strange feeling to see books wrapped in nothing but cloth, words inlaid in gold running down their spines. He’s always associated this type of cover with old, antique books, the cloth usually worn away at the corners and the lettering faded to almost nothing. To see them so vibrant and pristine makes the book nerd in him giddy. Reaching for one, his body unexpectedly throws itself forward, knocking several heavy books to the ground.

He jerks back in time for a painful electric current to blaze through him, locking his muscles in agony. His head splits with the spasm. Nausea rises up and he finally realizes what’s going on. He grits his teeth, tears springing to his eyes as he thinks about not seeing Lance one last time.

It’s not until his back bows in an impossible arch, forcing him to his knees that he realizes he’s no longer alone. Lance is on the floor in front of him, gripping onto his forearms. His mouth is moving but Keith can’t hear above the rushing in his ears. Strangely he doesn’t want to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to leave. Trying to say anything, one last thing, all he manages is a choked out groan before he watches his arms slowly dissolve out of Lance’s grip. The last thing he sees before that blinding white light takes over is Lance’s terrified eyes. And then he’s falling.

This time feels different. The chaos of travelling through time somehow lessened as Keith feels more whole than ever. Usually he’s scattered to the winds, pieces of him pulled away before smashing together once more when he lands. But not this time.

He crashes onto the couch of his living room, bouncing off the cushions and thudding to the floor. The disorienting moment of stillness, before his body catches up to the jump, holds him in place. As the numbness in his limbs slowly begins to recede he gasps for air, clawing at the laminate planks below. Tears leak down on his face and he rolls to the side, resting his forehead on the cool floor. And then he hears it… a groan that comes from behind him.

Popping to his feet in an instant he turns. The colour drains from his face.

Because there, in front of him, right in front of his very eyes, in his very own living room, in 2017, crouches Lance. Groggy, disheveled, and looking very much solid and real, _Lance!_

What the fuck?

He watches as Lance pushes onto his feet, gingerly peeling himself from the floor, eyes slowly trailing their way towards Keith. They meet his shoes, travel up his legs, coast along his torso and rest on his face, popping wide, almost wider than his mouth hanging open in shock.

_What the fuck, what the fuck…_

“What the fuck?!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter may have gotten a little bit out of hand. I don't think all of them will end up this long but you never know. Thanks for making it this far, hope you're enjoying it :)
> 
> Did you check out the [**absolutely incredible scene**](http://allexche.tumblr.com/post/175583770542/commission-for-shiverslightly-thank-you-for) @allexche did for me of their first meeting?


	2. Panic

Panic. Heart crashing against his chest, mind racing at light speed though nothing's getting through, he is officially panicking. Lance is here. Lance is in front of him. Lance is -

“Keith?” 

No words, no response.

“Keith are you okay?” Without him even noticing, Lance has closed the distance between them, clammy hands shaking his shoulders. “Keith? What was that?”

“What are you doing here?” He barely breathes, eyes wildly searching Lance's face.

“I heard a commotion and came to investigate. You were on the floor and looked to be in pain, I tried to help. For a moment there I thought -” Lance frowns. “I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude. I shall leave as soon as I'm satisfied you’re alright.”

Incredulity manages to break through the panic. Does he not even realize?

“I mean what are you doing _here_?” His arms make jerking motions around him, fingertips trembling.

Finally Lance looks past Keith. His eyebrows furrow as he glances around, frown deepening. Keith can't believe it. How is he not freaking out?

“Where are we, exactly?”

That's it? That's all he's got?

“You're in my apartment Lance! _In 2017!_ This shouldn't be happening, this isn't possible, what the fuck are we-”

“Keith.”

“-gonna do? What is going on? I can't-”

“Keith.”

“-believe you’re here. I don’t think this has ever-”

“KEITH!”

Lance's raised voice cuts into his rambling but he's still buzzing, still vibrating practically out of his skin in hysteria.

“Take a deep breath, okay?”

Lance moves his hands from Keith's shoulders up to his face. Had they been there the whole time? Firmly clasping each side of his jaw, Lance holds strong, not allowing Keith to look anywhere but into his infinite eyes, a dark midnight blue in the faded light. Softly holding his gaze he waits for Keith to process.

“Just breathe.”

Breathe? Yeah, ok, he can do that.

Sucking in a shaky breath, he tries. Eyes focused on Lance's pursed lips, which are exaggerating the motion for him.

“Good.” A soft thumb slowly smooths along his cheekbone. “Keep going, nice and slow.”

The buzzing in his head begins to dissipate, scattered thoughts coming together, finally forming something close to coherency.

“You shouldn't be here.”

Lance flinches at his words, removing his hands hastily. A bubble of panic rises in Keith once more and he scrambles to grasp those retreating hands.

“I mean, it’s not possible. You're not a timer. We- we can't just bring people with us.”

Lance is watching their hands, Keith’s nails digging so hard into his palms they’re probably going to leave circular marks. It’s not until his fingers twitch that Keith realizes he might be hurting him. He drops Lance’s hands and pulls at his own hair, bowing his head as he tries to figure out just what in the hell is going on.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice is low and quiet, the softness of it makes him snap his head up in surprise. Slowly, as if approaching a wild creature, Lance reaches out his hand and places it over one of Keith's, tangled in his hair. He tugs on it gently, encouraging Keith to let go and deftly entwines their fingers once it's free. A heated tranquility crawls across Keith’s chest, it’s tendrils wrapping around him like a phantom hug.

“We will figure this out.” Their eyes meet, Lance's, strong and insistent, driving the meaning of his words into Keith. “Do you know anyone who might assist us?”

Where once his mind was full of chaos and panic, now it's peacefully blank. Lost in the moment and so oblivious to anything outside of himself and Lance, he doesn't even realize he's been asked a question until Lance repeats it, this time with a growing look of concern.

“Shiro!” Keith proclaims, shaking his head back to the present. “We need Shiro.”

A small smile finds it way to Lance’s lips. “Do all of your acquaintances have such strange names?”

Ignoring the question Keith reaches for his phone, pulling up Shiro’s name and punching the call button, hard. Please pick up, _please pick up_. After the fourth ring his prayers are answered.

“Hello?” Shiro’s voice is scratchy and confused, Keith cringes. He hadn't thought to check the time but the darkness around them suggests its late.

“Shiro! I need help.”

“Keith? Are you okay?” Shiro’s alarm is obvious.

“Yeah I'm fine, but…,” how does he say this? “...something’s happened.”

“What? What's happened?”

“Um, well I just got back from timing-”

“What again? You only timed a few days ago.”

“I know but I went back to the same place and this time…” Trying to say it out loud to someone else makes the reality crash around him. He glances at Lance who’s watching him curiously, head tilted to the side and eyes fixed on his cell phone. He gives Keith an encouraging smile when he notices he's being watched.

“Keith spit it out, you're killing me.” Concern strains Shiro’s voice.

“This time someone came back with me.”

Silence. That's all the airwaves carry his way.

“Shiro? You still there?”

“...What did you say?” He asks in shock.

“Uh, Lance is here. In my apartment. He came back with me.”

“Who's Lance?”

“He’s from 1891, Shiro. He was… helping me while I was there, gave me a place to stay.” 

“What the fuck?”

Keith can't help the strained laugh that escapes. “That's what I said.”

He looks over at Lance again, who’s now glancing around Keith's place, seemingly already bored with their conversation. He picks up a newspaper from Keith's coffee table, staring at the cover story with wide eyes.

“That's not possible Keith.” Shiro's voice is muffled, muted noises filtering through in the background.

“I know that Shiro. That's why I'm sort of freaking out here!”

“Okay, I'm leaving now. I'll be there in ten minutes.” Keith hears the blessed jingle of keys through the receiver.

“Thank you Shiro,” he breathes, eyes sliding closed as the pounding in his head starts to throb. He drops his phone to the table.

Okay, Shiro is on the way, he'll figure it out. They'll get Lance home and life will go back to normal. He amounts the sudden stab in his chest at that thought to the stress of the day.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god,” Shiro whispers upon entering the apartment.

True to his word, he made it within ten minutes but it had still felt like an eternity. Lance had been understandably preoccupied during the wait, first by the newspaper, where he determined that he was, in fact, in the future and then with Keith’s cell phone, which he’d handed over to Lance as a means of distraction. Keith's poor brain was not able to handle idle conversation at this point.

Shiro was now frozen in the doorway, clearly taking in Lance's appearance. Still in the clothes he'd worn to dinner, Lance stood out. Loose fitting beige slacks and a button up white shirt with the sleeves rolled, the old fashioned designs immediately drawing attention to them. Keith was sure Shiro didn't doubt him now.

“Um, Shiro, this is Lance.” Keith waves with his hand between the two of them.

Lance, who had moved towards the door at Shiro’s knock, was now eyeing Keith distastefully. “Is that how introductions are made in the future? No wonder you’d never received help from anyone before.”

Keith scowls, about to hiss out a reply on how there’s more important things to worry about when Lance brushes by, hand outstretched towards Shiro in greeting.

“Lance McClain. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

It takes Shiro only a second to catch on, a smile already forming. “Takashi Shirogane, but please call me Shiro.” He takes Lance's hand in his own for a brief handshake.

“So there _are_ people here with manners. I was beginning to worry.” 

Scowling harder when Shiro barks out a laugh Keith cuts them both a hard glare. Shiro at least has the decency to appear sheepish, but Lance just grins wider, clearly enjoying Keith’s reaction.

“Okay you're introduced, now can we please try figure out what the fuck is going on?” He lets his irritation seep into his words.

“Lance, how did you get here?” Shiro asks.

“Keith was in distress and I went to assist but I'm not quite sure what happened next. One moment I was trying to help him off the floor and in the next I was there myself.” The calm and collected way Lance has been carrying himself throughout this whole ordeal is really starting to blow Keith's mind.

“He was touching me when I timed, could that be why he came with me?”

Shiro shakes his head, eyes thoughtful as he studies Lance in front of him. “It's never worked like that before.”

“I know but there's got to be some explanation. Does this happen in the future?”

“No.” Shiro's lips are pressed in a thin line. “It's still only timers. There's more of us there, but only they can actually travel through time.”

“You spend time even further in the future?” Lance asks Shiro inquisitively.

Looking bashful Shiro replies, “a little,” as he rubs his arm across his chest and shifts his eyes to the side.

It makes Keith snort. “It's more than a little,” he can't help but tease his friend. But the narrowing of Shiro’s eyes at him has him changing the subject. “It's, ah, where he got his arm.”

Lance makes a hilariously confused face, eyes scrunched and mouth in a tiny open frown. Laughing at his expression Keith pretends he doesn’t notice the increasingly familiar warmth spreading over him once more.

“Show him,” he says turning to Shiro, amusement tinging his voice and nodding his head towards Lance.

But Shiro hesitates, watching him with an odd look. It's similar to the one Lance is sporting but with a eerie spark in his eyes, like he's trying to figure something out. With an amused quirk of his lips towards Keith, Shiro finally turns to Lance, extending his right arm and pushing back the sleeve of his sweater. Lance steps towards Shiro for a closer look.

At first glance Shiro’s arm looks the same as his left, pale and corded with muscles, but as Lance peers closer his eyes widen in shock.

“Your arm,” he gasps. “It's not real?”

Attention to his artificial limb usually makes Shiro uncomfortable but for some reason he smiles widely at Lance’s awe. He moves his arm back and forth, flexing at the elbow and bending his fingers. The movements are smooth and precise but still not quite organic when you look close enough.

“It's an integrated bioflexible prosthetic,” he explains to Lance. “The technology’s not quite here yet, but 50 years from now this model is fairly common.”

“How does it work?”

Lance is fascinated, eyes travelling over Shiro’s arm. Keith can see his fingers twitching.

Shiro notices too. “You can touch if you'd like. It's connected just above the elbow to my nervous system. I can control it just like my other arm. It works perfectly, sometimes better.”

Reverently Lance touches the smooth surface, running his fingertips along the barely visible seams. “Can you feel with it?”

“A little, but not much. Your hand feels more like a breeze than a touch. But they're working on it. The woman in charge of the program is very driven.”

Keith doesn't miss the light pink that appears on Shiro’s cheeks, but he decides to let it go, for now at least.

Lance is still entranced. “It looks so real,” he whispers, talking to himself.

Keith huffs a laugh, mostly because he's never seen anyone look so interested in a mechanical arm before, except for Pidge of course. “You should have seen it when he first got it. It was black and grey.”

Shiro laughs too. “Yeah the prototype wasn't exactly subtle. Luckily I never timed while I had it. That could've caused some problems.”

Lance finally lifts his eyes from Shiro’s arm to look up at him. “How?”

Keith clears his throat. It's late and they're getting off topic. “It could’ve been dangerous, but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to figure out how to get you home.”

That wipes the smile off Lance’s face. “Home?”

“Yeah you know, back to your own time.” Is this seriously not something Lance has thought about yet? “Shiro, do you think you could take him back?”

Shiro frowns and crosses his arms across his wide chest. “I don't think it'll work like that. Besides I just timed out myself a few days ago, my body will be too worn for me to control it.”

Keith sighs, frustration rising once again. “Well what can we do?”

They're still standing near the entrance of his apartment, barely moved back from the front door. Though to be fair the door opens straight into the living room, the tiny grey couch in front of them with his TV against the same wall as the door. Shiro’s been here for ten minutes already and they haven't gotten anywhere, both spatially and situationally. Keith feels a little manic for noticing the parallel.

“I think you should wait until morning, then go see Coran.”

“Morning? Are you serious Shiro? That’s hours from now, what are we supposed to do until then?” Is Keith the only one that thinks having Lance here is a huge problem?

“It’s only a few hours Keith,” Shiro tries to console. “Besides you both look dead on your feet. Get some rest and then go in, I’m sure Coran will be able to help.”

“Who is Coran?” Lance asks. He’d been silent since Keith mentioned getting him home, his excitement from earlier now gone.

Cringing at the quiet of Lance’s voice and total change in demeanour, Keith softens his tone. “He’s my doctor... well our doctor,” he motions between Shiro and himself. “He sees pretty much all the timers in North America actually.”

“And you think he can help? That he’ll find a way to get me... back to my own time?” His blue eyes are like bottomless pools, a gloomy mood taking over his features.

Walking over to Lance, Keith grabs his hand without even thinking about it, irrationally wanting to comfort him. “I hope so.”

Lance is staring at the ground but Keith waits until he looks up. “This has never happened before Lance. We don’t even know if it’s safe for you to be here. Dr. Smy- Coran, will at least be able to tell us that.”

Lance watches Keith’s face, eyes flicking back and forth between his own. Apprehension and uncertainty clear in his voice when he quietly says, “okay.”

Trying to reassure, Keith smiles at him, pouring as much calming support as he can into it. They each hold each others gaze, comfortable in the silence until Shiro clears his throat. 

“I’m going to head out then. Give you two a chance to sleep. I, ah, thought you might need a spare set of clothes while you’re here and wasn’t sure what size you’d be so I brought some of mine in case you were larger than Keith.”

Shiro holds out a bag of clothes and finally a grin finds it way back to Lance’s lips. 

“I’m not certain any garments of yours would fit me Shiro, I’ve seen work horses smaller than you.” His smile curls into what Keith is coming to know as his signature smirk. “I mean that with the highest of praise, of course.”

Smirking himself at the uncomfortable shrug Shiro gives in response, Keith leans back, putting his hands in his pockets and sizes Lance up. He’s taller than Keith, but slighter. He probably wouldn’t fit in any of Keiths pants but the shirts should be alright, maybe just a bit short. Shiro’s clothes, however, will be much too big. The thrift store down the street would probably have at least a few things in Lance’s size.

He’s already making plans to stop there before going to see Coran when he realizes what he’s doing. Why is he mentally shopping for clothes with Lance? They need to get him home, not comfortable. He can’t stay here.

Oh god, where is Lance going to stay?

“Um, Lance?”

Lance turns from looking over clothes with Shiro to face him. “Yes?”

“I don’t really have anywhere for you to sleep… besides the couch.” He glances down at said couch.

Lance follows his eyes, his own widening when he takes in the size of it. “Excuse me?”

“I only have one bedroom.”

“And you expect me to sleep on this?” Lance balks, indignant.

“I might have an air mattress you could borrow,” Shiro pipes in, looking worriedly between the two of them.

“Okay there you go. You can sleep on the couch tonight and tomorrow we’ll have Shiro’s air mattress.”

“What am I? A common household dog?” Lance looks positively scandalized with the suggested sleeping arrangement.

“Oh please,” Keith rolls his eyes, annoyance rising in him. “Could you be any more dramatic?”

“Says the man who had nothing but luxury when I was hosting him.”

“We can’t all be wealthy tobacco playboys.” Keith bites back.

Lance snorts, giving Keith a snooty look. “Clearly.”

Gritting his teeth, Keith seethes. “The couch is all I have to offer. You can take it or you can sleep on the floor.”

Lance growls low in his throat before Shiro steps between the two, hands outstretched in each man’s direction. “Look guys, I know this isn’t exactly ideal but there’s nothing that can be done right now okay. Lance I will bring the air matress tomorrow, it’s comfortable, I promise.” Lance looks off to the side, grumbling quietly to himself.

Pleased with the lack of complaining Shiro turns to Keith. “Keith, I’m sure you have some extra pillows and blankets that will make the couch more pleasant for Lance, right.” He sends him a meaningful glare.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Keith mumbles, cowed under Shiro’s commanding stare.

“Lance? Will that work for you?” Shiro asks but his tone is terse, clearly telling Lance there’s only one answer to give.

“Yes,” Lance also mumbles, still not looking at either man.

“Okay then.” Shiro turns back to Keith. “Jesus, I’m going home. Be nice and try to get along.”

“Yes _dad_ ,” Keith says, feeling belligerent. It earns him a snort from Lance and they grin at each other, finding common ground.

Shiro looks at each impish grin and rolls his eyes. “Alright children,” he says, heading for the door. “Call me tomorrow, okay. I want to know what Coran says.”

Keith follows behind Shiro, watching as he slides into his shoes and throws a large winter coat over his bulky frame. At the thought of being left alone anxiety starts to fall over Keith again. What if something happens to Lance while he's here? What if his body can't take timing? Shifting nervously he fiddles with the bottom of his shirt.

“It’s okay Keith,” Shiro says, noticing his unease and grabbing on to his shoulders to steady him. “We’ll fix this. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Perhaps I've got a latent ability myself?” Lance suggests, throwing out one last theory before Shiro leaves. He doesn’t look like he really believes this one though.

“Hmm… well I think there's definitely _something_ special about you,” Shiro states, shifting so that only Keith can see his face and the pointed look he gives him before smirking. “I’ll see you later. Goodbye Lance,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Good night Shiro. Thank you for your assistance.”

Still smirking Shiro punches Keith lightly on the shoulder and winks before disappearing down the hall. Trying to process what just happened, Keith’s left standing in the doorway, staring dumbly after him.

 

* * *

 

Light filters in through his bedroom window, turning the backs of his eyelids red and veiny. He groans and rolls away, hiding his face from the sun and burrowing further into the thick comforter surrounding him. A quiet peace encircles his mind, breath evening out once more as a dark haze settles over him. Just as he’s about to slip under once more a thought comes racing in, _Lance_.

Eyes flying wide he grabs his phone, 11:23 am displayed large and bright on the screen.

“Fuck,” he curses, throwing off the warmth and comfort and shooting to his feet.

He wiggles into a discarded hoodie found on the floor and shoves his feet into the slippers waiting by his door before striding to the living room. He halts in his steps. The couch is almost just as he’d left it. Blankets and pillows thrown across, some fallen on the floor, but there’s one major difference. Lance isn’t there.

After Shiro had left they’d barely spoken a word, their fight about sleeping on the couch making the whole situation awkward as Keith looked for anything to make Lance more comfortable. Despite his harsh words Keith could admit to himself that his frustration had really come from being unable to offer Lance the same hospitality that he’d received in 1891. Timing was awful and he could only imagine how Lance must be feeling. Shame that he’d somehow managed to drag Lance into his world burned harsh within him.

But all that is replaced with rising alarm as he looks around the room. He’d only given Lance the briefest of tours before crashing into his bed and letting the weariness drag him down. Had Lance timed back home? He would know if he did, right?

“Lance?” He tentatively calls out, cringing at the slight tremor in his voice.

A muffled sound from the kitchen reaches his ears then a tired and disheveled looking Lance comes into view. The circles under his eyes are dark and judging by his grumpy expression it doesn’t look like he’s gotten much sleep. 

“I hope coffee is still available in the future.” He grouses.

Laughter bubbles up in Keith’s chest and Lance scowls harder. Trying to tamp down his amusement as he walks towards the kitchen, a tiny snicker escapes when he passes Lance’s sagging frame.

“You wouldn’t be enjoying yourself at my expense had you endured the night I did.”

Sighing Keith pulls the single serve coffee maker towards him, pouring a scoop of dark coffee grounds into the filter and filling the top with water. “Are you always like this?”

Lance is watching him with narrowed eyes that only slit further when he speaks. “Like what exactly?”

“You know...” Keith closes the lid to the coffee maker, pressing the red button and reaching into the cupboard above him, searching for a mug to place underneath the drip. He smiles to himself at his choice. “So over the top.”

Lance huffs, clearly offended though he says nothing, the sudden aroma of fresh coffee in the air seeming to placate him. Still smiling Keith motions for Lance to sit at the square table pushed against the wall of his small kitchen. Lance goes willingly enough and plops into one of the wooden chairs decorated with a stained and faded yellow and white striped cushion.

Keith turns back to the cupboards, pulling out two bowls and spoons, searching for his usual breakfast. The small round Cheerios tinkle in the ceramic bowls as he pours. While adding the milk he looks over his shoulder to find Lance staring out the window, taking in the scenery outside with a soft expression.

“I've always been fond of winter,” he says, taking in the heavy frost coating the street below them. “We don't get it much in New Orleans.”

“Yeah? Well you can have it.” Keith replies, shivering at his own icy memories.

He grabs both bowls, setting one in front of Lance and the other in front of the empty chair across from him. Remembering the coffee he snatches it from under the machine and plops it by Lance, cartoon picture of grumpy cat with large black letters that spell NOPE facing him. Lance raises an eyebrow and Keith chortles before turning to make his own cup.

They mostly eat in silence. Lance content to look out the window and Keith planning their day. Shiro had texted earlier to say Coran was expecting them at Altea Institute anytime they were ready. He takes in Lance’s outfit, noting the way he practically drowns in Shiro's sweats. That decides it.

“We should get you some clothes that actually fit before heading to see Coran.”

“What's wrong with my own?” Lance asks between bites of his cereal, which he'd eyed warily for several minutes before finally trying.

“They stand out too much. _You’ll_ stand out too much in them.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Keith shrugs. “When timing it’s better to blend in, it draws less attention.”

“Hmmm, sounds rather boring.” There's a glint in Lance’s eye as he teases Keith.

Keith sighs pretending he's more exasperated than he really is. “Lance.”

Lance laughs, the sound so sweet and carefree it's almost jarring to Keith. He doesn't hear laughs like that very often.

“Alright. It sounds like a pleasant outing.”

 

* * *

 

“What about this?” Keith calls, holding up a red polo t-shirt. It definitely seems like it could be Lance’s style.

“A collared shirt with short sleeves?” Lance scoffs. “I think not.”

Keith hangs it back on the rack, wondering how much time they've spent there already. It'd taken them much longer than the usual five minute walk from his place to get to the thrift store. Lance had been, understandingly, overwhelmed with curiosity.

He’d stopped to study and stare at pretty much everything on their way there. From the tall apartments buildings, to paved streets, to the cars driving by and don't even get him started on the plane that had flown above them. He wanted to know how everything worked, what it did, how it'd been built. Keith tried to explain as best he could but thankfully it wasn't long before something else new and exciting would cross Lance’s sight and he'd be moving on. Just like now with almost every article of clothing.

“Is this really something a respectable man would wear here?” He asks, holding up a sequined crop top he’d found in the men's section.

“Depends on the occasion,” Keith playfully tosses back, having way too much fun sorting through musty racks of second hand clothes.

Lance raises his eyebrows. “Oh really?”

“Sure,” Keith grins. “I could see you hitting the clubs in that.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lance exclaims, drawing the attention of two teenage girls a few rows over.

“Shhh, calm down. I'm only teasing.” Which was weird in itself. Keith wasn't normally like this, at least not with someone he'd only known for a little over a day. Has it really only been a day? But there was just something about Lance that made him feel lighter, open.

“I don't even know what that means. Hitting the clubs?”

“Oh,” Keith pauses, trying to think of a way to explain. “It means going to a party. A club is kind of like a tavern but it has a large dance floor with lights and loud music.”

The twinkle Lance gets in his eyes when he finds something interesting is back. “Really? That sounds rather enjoyable.”

“Well… you'd probably like it at least.”

Lance looks Keith over with renewed interest, studying him intently like all the new things he'd come across today. Feeling nervous under his gaze Keith changes subjects.

“Do you want to try some things on?”

Beside Lance is a cart full of clothes he'd deemed worthy enough to consider. If he adds anymore they won’t make it to Altea until waaay after closing. Picking up a truly horrific turtleneck, the neck stretched out to bag lifelessly in the front and the colour such a bright neon green it could burn retinas, Lance grimaces and drops it.

“Yes, I think I’ve found all I can stomach to venture.”

Keith leads the way to the dressing rooms near the back of the store. Weaving through racks and passing the two girls who had noticed Lance early. Their eyes go wide as they pass.

“Are you cosplaying or something?”

Both men turn back to the girls. A tall, thin framed girl with pale blonde hair is staring quizzically at Lance, her head cocked to the side. Beside her, her friend lets out a squeaky laugh and buries her face in her hands, clearly embarrassed that the other girl has said something.

“Am I what?”

Not wanting to leave the house in Shiro’s baggy wear they’d been unable to find anything of Keith’s that Lance found suitable, though it wasn’t like Keith had a large collection to choose from. So he’d opted to wear his own clothes, arguing that if the store was really as close as Keith claimed there’d hardly be time to draw much attention to him. Keith knew better, but didn’t push it. 

“Cos-play-ing.” The blonde girl says again, slowly dragging the word out.

Grinning, Keith leans over to whisper in Lance’s ear, restraining himself from the ‘I told you so’ dying to leave his lips. “They think you’re dressing up, pretending to be a character.” 

Lance just seems more confused. “Is that what people do to amuse themselves here?”

Shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back his laughter, Keith simply nods his head.

Still confused, Lance tilts his head towards the girl. “Not at all young miss. Why would you suppose such a thing?”

The blonde snorts, flicking her eyes between Keith and Lance before rolling them with a sarcastic, “whatever,” then dissolving into a fit of giggles along with her friend. Both girls walk away without another word, their laughter only getting louder the further they get.

Determined not to laugh too much at Lance’s expense, Keith holds back the curtain of a changing stall, waiting for Lance to bring his cart inside. A quiet, “I still don’t understand,” comes from Lance as he lets the curtain drop.

Several minutes pass by...

... then several more.

Keith starts to get anxious. “Lance? Are you okay? Finding anything?”

No answer.

“Lance?”

A ‘humph’ is heard from behind the curtain. “I feel a little absurd.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Keith coaxes, knowing all too well how it feels to be dressed in clothes from a different time period. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got on?”

More grumbling reaches his ears but then the curtain is being thrown back with a harsh screeching of metal on metal and Lance is stepping out. Mouth dropping open, Keith gapes.

Lance is wearing a form fitting raglan baseball tee, the body a soft heathered grey but it’s the royal blue of the sleeves and neckline that make his eyes shimmer brilliantly. He throws an army green surplus jacket overtop, a white cotton hood and two orange bands wrapping around the biceps giving a casual urban look. Feeling hot under his own collar, Keith swallows as his eyes travel down to Lance’s… what the?

“Are you wearing flood pants?”

The pink that flushes Lance’s tan face sends a wave of heat over Keith. “Every pair of pants I’ve tried have been too small. Are people shrinking in the future?”

Keith chuckles, taking pity on the pout Lance is giving. He runs his eyes over Lance’s waist and long legs. “Let me see if I can find something.”

Heading back to the rack of jeans the first thing Keith looks for is length. If the legs don’t pool on the floor he doesn’t even consider it. He finds a few light blue pairs and holds them up against his own waist, assuming that Lance is probably close to the same size in that department. On his way back he notices a pair of grey high top sneakers and grabs those as well. Lance is still standing in the same spot and outfit, checking himself out carefully in the full length mirrors outside the stalls when Keith returns.

“These might work, let’s see.” He holds a pair of jeans out at waist height, moving towards Lance to see if they’ll fit his narrow hips.

He drifts close, not realizing how close until his knuckles brush against Lance’s hipbones, a sharp intake of breath coming from the man before him. Snapping his head up he’s startled to find vivid blue eyes piercing into his own, only inches away. His mind blanks and the air between them sparks, a fluttering pressure building in his chest. Lance's eyes slide down his face, dropping to half mast. Keith feels drawn in, teetering on the edge of something unknown but inexplicably alluring. He just needs to lean in a little… 

The moment snaps as Lance abruptly steps back, coughing awkwardly and rubbing behind his neck. “I'll go try these on then,” he utters in a rush, disappearing behind the curtain before Keith can even move back.

What the hell was that? He takes a steadying breath to collect himself. That is definitely not something he wants happening. Right?

“I think these might work… though I’m a tad uncertain,” Lance calls from behind the curtain before coming out once more.

He stands unsure in front of Keith and Keith… well he struggles to find words.

“You - you look…” he trails off, gaping once more.

Mechanically holding the shoes he grabbed out to Lance, he takes them wordlessly and slides them on, smiling to himself when they fit. That magnetic smile falls upon Keith, radiant and expectant.

“Good.” Has it always been so dry in here? He tries again. “You look good.”

 

* * *

 

They take the train to Altea Institute, mostly because the stops are only steps away from both the thrift store and Altea but also for Lance’s sanity. Though the subway trains today are different than the street cars of Lance’s time they're similar enough to feel somewhat familiar. And Keith keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lance has been way too calm about this whole thing, like freaky levels of calm. The only anxious feelings Keith's seen so far were when Lance was trying on clothes and this go with the flow attitude is honestly messing with Keith. This can't be normal, can it?

They're walking up the steps towards the wide open courtyard before Altea’s front doors when Keith hears a quiet ‘oh’ beside him. Lance is staring straight ahead, eyes wide and mouth open, a look of wonder on his face.

A large multi levelled water feature stands before them. Boulders framing the pools and waterfalls, lily pads and reeds decorating the edges, giving the illusion that the institute was built around this natural oasis, if not for the tiny fountain and wishing pool off to the side. Picnic tables and adirondack chairs are scattered around the area, tall grass and bushes separating the seating areas for privacy. 

Behind it the almost exclusively glass covered walls of Altea stretch into the sky, low winter sun sparkling off the surface, making it look like the glow is coming from within. One of the largest buildings in the city, Altea Institute shines like a centrepiece.

“I've never seen anything quite so…” Lance is breathless beside him, awe practically radiating off him.

“Imposing?” He doesn't know why he says it. It's not like he wants to ruin Lance’s first impression but he's never liked coming here. The reminder that he's different and can never have a normal life is always hard for him.

“... Magnificent.”

Lance is apparently immune to Keith's brooding.

Following a path that winds its way around the pools and fountain they quickly find themselves in the main entrance, Keith striding purposefully over to the main desk while Lance wanders behind, head back and following the tall sweeping atrium up to its highest point. His mouth hasn't closed since they first climbed those stairs.

Keith asks the receptionist if Coran is available to see them and keeps an eye on Lance while he waits, even smiling, just a little, as he watches him. Maybe Keith should be worrying about Lance’s mood rubbing off on _him._

“Dr. Smythe can you see now,” the receptionist calls and he spares her a glance and a nod before sliding up beside Lance.

“Want to take the elevator?” He asks, pointing to the two glass columns off centre in the room.

Lance’s wide eyes trail over, head moving with one of the cars as it glides smoothly down the track. Wordlessly he nods, but he’s still smiling so Keith tries not to be concerned with his sudden lack of speech.

They continue in silence while they wait for the doors to chime open, stepping into the transparent cube that takes off once they’re inside.

“Incredible,” Lance breathes.

It has Keith smirking. “This is the first time I’ve seen you at a loss for words.”

“The architecture here is incredible. I never could have imagined such things.”

“Well you are over 100 years in the future, things can advance pretty quick.”

“I suppose,” Lance murmurs but he’s not really paying attention, still in awe of everything around him.

Currently he’s watching the ground below their feet sink further away and it reminds Keith of how he always loved to do that when he was little. He would pretend he was flying, sticking his arms out wide and watching the floors blur by. Sometimes his mother would crouch to his level and blow across his face, asking if he could feel the wind in his hair.

When the doors open he has to shake his head back to the present, blinking a little too rapidly. Taking off in the direction of Coran’s office, he glances back to ensure Lance is following when he finds the man stopped close the elevator, staring into one of the rooms. Sighing to himself Keith turns around to see what’s caught his attention now.

Lance is looking into the robotics lab, watching the engineers and mechanics within tinkering on various devices. As interesting as it is, they really need to get going. Keith’s just about to pull him away when one of the workers in a separate, though still full glass room, looks up from their table, pauses mid movement then begins to wave. It takes him a moment to realize who it is, given that she’s covered in a white hooded, biohazard suit, face mask firmly in place.

“Do you know that person?” Lance questions.

“It’s my friend Pidge.” He smiles and waves back, about to gesture that they need to keep moving but she’s already opening the door of the room to the decontamination chamber and pulling off her mask and hood, brown hair sticking out every which way. 

It’s a few more minutes before she opens the door to the lab and greets them.

“Keith! Why’re you here already?” She throws her arms around him.

“Hey Pidge,” he gives her a squeeze then steps back to look at her. “Ah, something happened to me last night when I timed.”

“What?” Her eyes are instantly concerned.

“Well,” he points to Lance. This is easier now, the second time around. “This is Lance. He’s from 1891 and he sorta… came back with me.”

Her mouth drops open. Stunned silence as her eyes sweep over Lance, who gives her a tentative smile, bowing his head in greeting. 

“Pleasure to meet you my lady.” He reaches out to grab her hand, placing a kiss to the back of it and shooting her a charming smile.

Keith bites his tongue.

Mouth still hanging open Pidge half smiles at Lance in bewilderment but turns her face back to Keith. “Could you repeat that?”

“I don’t know how it happened, but he timed here with me. That’s why we’re here”

“But that’s…” Now Pidge is the one lost for words. 

“Not possible, I know.”

Their eyes hold each others gaze, a tense silence starting to grow. Pidge is clearly working something out in her head, he can practically see the gears turning.

“That’s... amazing.” She finally breathes.

“I’m sorry?”

“Think about it Keith, if people are able to travel through time without being a timer themselves? Think of the applications, the things we could do, it’d be-”

“Alright, alright I get it.” He holds his hands up, asking her to stop. “This is huge, I know, but I’m sorry Pidge, Dr. Smythe is expecting us.”

“Oh, right, of course. Come see me after okay? I’ll be in this lab all day.” Then she does the closest thing resembling an excited little shuffle Keith has ever seen from her. “This is so exciting.”

He scoffs. “More like terrifying.”

It earns him an aggravated look. “I realize that you are like the very last person this should be happening to, but still, can’t you see how incredible this is? How game changing this could be?”

“I just want it to be over.”

“Excuse me?” Lance cuts in. He’d been silently watching their exchange until now. “And here I was enjoying our time together.”

He’s smirking a little but Keith can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Ummm… it’s not that I - we just -” Ugh, what’s he even supposed to say to that?

“You probably don’t know Keith very well,” says Pidge, coming to his rescue. “But if there’s one thing he’s not good at it’s change and adapting.”

“Hey-”

“And people,” Pidge adds with a smirk.

Keith pouts. “I can adapt”

A snort. “I don’t hear you denying that people part though.”

Rather than dignify that comment with a response he chooses to glower instead. But Pidge smiles fondly, not exactly the desired reaction.

“Alright then get going,” she says as she reaches out to ruffle Keith’s hair. Dodging to the side, he attempts to wack her hand away but she’s a quick little one.

Taking that as his que, Lance moves toward Pidge, taking her hand in his again and she flinches, caught off guard. “I do hope we meet again soon, Miss Pidge.” He leans down to kiss her hand again but she sntaches it back.

“Just Pidge is fine.” Her tone is curt and Keith’s grateful for the decisive way she shuts him down. But then she adds, softer, “Yeah I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Not to be deterred, Lance flashes another dazzling smile. “Excellent.” The grin he turns to Keith is no less brilliant, then he’s continuing down the hallway in the direction Keith had been heading before.

Keith and Pidge pause for moment, sharing a look before he starts to follow, Lance slowing so he can catch up. When they’re shoulder to shoulder Lance quietly asks, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, you’re good. You came on a bit strong but Pidge just isn’t into that.”

“That?” Lance raises an eyebrow questioningly. It makes Keith chuckle.

“If you’re not science she isn’t interested.”

With the blank stare he’s getting Keith elaborates. “She’s pretty much married to the job. There’s no time for anything else.”

“That sounds most lonesome.”

He shrugs. “Not for her.”

Lance is frowning, trying to figure it out but Keith doesn't bother to explain any further, not that there's much more to say, because they're here.

Standing just outside the closed oak door he takes a steadying breath. Time to get some answers. For some reason the thought makes him nervous. He glances over at Lance who’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The gesture, looking odd on Lance, has his nerves spiking higher.

“Ready?” He asks, the question just as much for himself as it is for Lance.

Watching each other silently Lance blows out a long, slow breath, releasing his lip. His eyes catch Keith's and determination sets in. A nod of his head is all it takes for Keith to raise his hand to the door, ready to knock when it's suddenly thrown wide open.

“Well come on, get in. Can't be wasting time behind doors, lots to do my boy.” 

A flurry of red hair and reaching arms pull him into the office as he flails his arms for balance.

“And you must be Lance! Please come in.” 

Keith is being pushed out of the way to make room for the man right behind him.

The doctor extends a hand to Lance. “Dr. Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service. I must say it’s very exciting to meet you.”

There’s the slightest hesitation before Lance is extending his own hand. “Lance McClain. Thank you for agreeing to meet us Dr. Smythe.”

“Please call me Coran.” He shakes Lance’s hand vigorously while studying his face as though that alone might answer why he’s here. To Keith it’s a little unnerving but it doesn’t seem to phase Lance, a wide grin spreading on the latter’s face.

“Thank you, Coran.”

“Come have a seat. Both of you.” Coran sweeps into the room, arms motioning towards the two chairs across from his desk. 

The office is large, easily the size of Keith’s living room, bookshelves filled with volumes and intrsuments lining every wall but the one made entirely of glass. Almost at the top of the 35 story building the view over the city is impressive, the bridge and park where Keith runs easily visible from this vantage point. Coran sits behind a sizeable desk, multiple computer screens and mountains of paperwork cleared off to the sides so he can easily take in the two men before him.

Keith sits in the one of the plush, curved backed chairs, sinking into the cushions. He’s always appreciated the comfort of these, something so rarely seen in doctor’s offices. Following suit Lance sits in the other one, a small murmur of surprise escaping him. Apparently Keith’s not the only one satisfied with the seating.

“Shiro has filled me in some but I’d like to start at the beginning. Keith tell me what happened.”

He takes a breath and begins to tell the story, Lance adding in bits as he goes. Starting with the first time they met for that brief period in the storage room to timing back a few days later. Coran raises his eyebrows and nods his head throughout, fingers steepled thoughtfully in front of him. When he gets to the part where Lance timed back with him Coran presses for more details.

“And how did it feel when you timed?”

“What?”

“Did it feel any different than any other time?”

Keith thinks back. “Not at first. At first it was just the usual panic and chaos-” Coran’s lips press to a thin line at that. “- but actually…” he pauses remembering that strange feeling of staying together, like he was still complete instead of fragmented. “I guess I felt a little more… whole.”

“Whole?”

“Yeah, like I wasn’t being taken apart in a million pieces. I felt a little more… like myself.”

Coran hums. “And what about the first time?”

“The first time I ever timed?”

“No. When you timed back after your first visit to 1891.”

“Oh.” He hesitates because that was when he’d felt that weird separation, that part of himself tear away. And then he jerks in his seat as realization hits. He hasn’t felt that since he’d gone back. That emptiness, that feeling that something was missing. He hasn’t felt that since… since running into Lance again. He flicks his eyes to Lance then down to the floor.

“What is it Keith?” Coran is leaning forward in his chair an excited air suddenly surrounding him, like he’s expecting a break through any second.

Licking his lips, he tugs at the hem of his shirt, eyes glued to the floor in front of him. “Ah… after timing back the first time I felt a little… empty. Like a part of me was missing.”

“... And?” Coran prompts.

“And?”

The doctor clicks his tongue, impatience clear on his face. “And how do you feel now? Still empty?”

“Um…” His eyes are now darting around the room, looking anywhere but at the men in that room with him. Anywhere but at _Lance_ because, holy shit, he’s actually been feeling the exact opposite of empty since meeting Lance again. The smiling and jokes, even in this fucked up situation. This isn’t Keith, it isn’t how he reacts, how he deals with things. But for some reason he feels safe, at ease, _complete_ with Lance around. Like that hollow feeling was never there at all.

But he can't actually say any of that out loud. That would be...

“No. I don’t feel e-empty… anymore.”

He risks a peek near Lance, trying to catch his expression from the corner of his eye. He can tell Lance is watching him, feels it burning into his skin like the blush he’s trying desperately to keep back. It’s a bad idea, he turns his gaze back to Coran instead.

Said man is looking pensive, idly twirling one end of his flaming red mustache between his thumb and forefinger, bushy eyebrows scrunched in thought. He hums.

“And Lance what did it feel like when you timed?”

“Hmm?” Lance turns his attention to Coran, shaken from his thoughts. “Me?”

Coran nods, waiting patiently.

He thinks a moment before speaking. “It was... a very odd sensation, not at all pleasant. It was as though I were being pulled by a cord wrapped around my middle, tugging me into this dazzlingly bright light.”

“What were you feeling? Were you scared, or…?”

“I was confused, disoriented, but not frightened. There was something comforting in the whiteness.” He looks in Keith's direction, eyes meeting for a moment then adds. “I had no idea I was travelling at all. I never felt disassembled, I was most definitely intact.”

Another hum from Coran. “And how do you feel now that you're here?”

“Fine. Should I be feeling otherwise?”

“For some timers there's a sense of displacement when they're in another time. Like they can tell they don't belong there.”

“Oh.” The dark hair of Lance’s eyebrows furrow. “I feel content here, no different than at home. I'd say I'm quite comfortable.” 

He’s nodding to himself at his answer until a gleam sparks in his eye and he's smirking at Keith. “Except for being reduced to sleeping on the couch. That is most uncomfortable.”

Keith huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes dramatically, the tease snapping him out of his weird jumbled feelings. “You’ll have an air mattress tonight. Shiro’s probably already set it up.”

“Well I do hope so.”

And he can't help it, he smiles back at Lance.

Coran is watching the exchange between them with interest. Something definitely forming in that mind of his.

“It could be possible,” he begins, holding the gaze of each man before continuing, “that the two of you have been somehow bound together. Perhaps through a deep connection or bond, though it would have to be intense to be powerful enough to pull Lance through time.”

Stunned and smile dropping, Keith doesn’t know what to say but doesn’t have to because Lance is quickly spluttering.

“Just wh-what are you implying sir?”

They’re both taken aback by the disbelieving anger in Lance’s words.

“I’ll have you know that I am a respectable, upstanding gentleman and to insinuate that either Keith or myself would demean-”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” Coran is quick to cut in. But Keith’s mind is stalling out because, Lance is angry? “I didn’t mean to imply there was anything offensive between the two of you. A bond could be formed for any number of reasons, even a deeply intense one.”

Coran pauses for a moment, noticing the slight trembling of Keith’s fingers before continuing. “And just for the record a romantic relationship between two men is not taboo in this time. It’s just biology, simply what is. All sexual preferences are accepted and celebrated.”

Lance gasps, mouth dropping wide open. When he speaks it's hushed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well homophobia still exists for some closed minded individuals but for the most part it’s widely accepted.”

And now _this_ is the most stunned Keith has ever seen Lance, his entire body rigid in shock, except for his mouth which is opening and closing wordlessly. Keith would be laughing if it wasn’t for the turmoil of his own emotions, the twisting and clenching in the pit of his stomach. Because the idea of Lance and him being connected when they barely know each other, when they’re not even from the same time...

Lance still seems to be processing when his eyes travel slowly over to Keith, creeping across the floor and rising up, only to dart away as soon as they make eye contact. And he could be imagining the pink that’s dusting Lance’s cheekbones. He probably is but he can’t take it. He has to say something, has to steer this conversation away.

“Could Lance maybe have the same genetic defect? Or at least a dormant gene?”

“Oh yes, that is definitely a possibility. Either way further testing needs to be done. In fact we won't really know anything until after the testing.”

“What do you mean by anything?”

“Well I’ve never seen anything like this before, I don't know how Lance got here, how long he’ll be here, how he can get back? After the tests we should have a better understanding. I would like to have a full work up done for the both of you.”

Keith groans. Great, just how he wants to spend the rest of his day. Being poked and prodded, tested. But Lance is still acting strange and it's setting him on edge, at least the physical testing should help settle them both.

“Okay.” Keith agrees, rising to his feet. “Where to first?”

 

* * *

 

First turned out to be blood work. The look on Lance’s face when the phlebotomist came towards them with needles and a tray of collection tubes was truly priceless. And Keith really can’t be blamed for taking a picture when Lance saw the syringe, fill with blood, because he screamed like a drunk sorority girl in a slasher flick, and maybe Keith should have been a little more sympathetic but well, he was ninety percent sure this was just more of Lance’s theatrics. Whatever, it was hilarious either way.

He did however show some support when they began placing electrodes on his head to measure brain waves during the psychological testing because talking about feelings is indeed some terrifying shit. Thankfully they were seperated for that one so at least they didn’t have to spill their secrets in front of each other but he did give him a squeeze on the shoulder and some words of encouragement before leaving.

They actually hadn’t seen each other since then, Keith being led to the biomechanical lab after that for a physical work up and stress testing. It felt good to run and sweat and finally get some post workout endorphins going after an extremely stressful 48 hours. If Lance was stuck here until god knows when he’d definitely have to make going to the gym priority number one for his sanity.

With his testing finished but Lance apparently needing a more in depth assessment, Keith made his way back to the robotics lab alone in search of Pidge. No longer in the biohazard suit, he found her at a workbench going over some blueprints in a standard lab coat, looking very concentrated.

“Huh, so you can look professional,” he teases, coming up to the bench to peer curiously at the plans before her.

She looks up with glaring eyes. “I always look professional. You on the other hand…”

“What? I just had every bit of me tested for your precious science, cut me some slack.”

She snorts, pushing her glasses up her nose before straightening to look at him. Taking in his easy smile with an odd look on her face she questions, “what’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“How are you joking? The Keith I know would be losing his shit right now.”

“Ahhh…” Unease starts to settle over him. “Don’t worry, I did. Just ask Shiro.”

“Hmmm.” She’s still looking at him funny. He can feel her dissecting him like some sort of research experiment. “So what did Coran say?”

“Oh.” _That._ “He… has some theories.”

A raised eyebrow. “Such as…”

“Welllll,” He draws out the word, a little higher pitched than normal. “Nothing conclusive until the test results come in.” Shifting from foot to foot he tries not to show his true discomfort.

“Keith,” she sighs, “I know that. But what does he _think_ happened?”

He might as well just tell her, it’s not like she wouldn’t find out anyway. She’s tenacious when it comes to obtaining knowledge.

"... He thinks we might have some sort of bond or something." 

"A Bond?"

"Or like an intense connection..." he trails off, mumbling and staring hard at the floor while heat blazes in his cheeks.

"Wait, so you’re like really into this guy?"

"W-What? No!" He loudly splutters, causing a few of Pidge's coworkers to look up. 

Pidge watches him squirm. "Uh huh."

"It's not like that." God why is he telling her this again?

He averts his eyes to the door, longing to escape, but there stands Lance making his way over to them. Keith does a double take, the heat from his cheeks blazing through his entire body, mouth immediately watering. Time actually stops. Because Lance is getting closer and he's flushed, sweat gleaming over tan skin that there's suddenly just so _much_ of.

He's wearing a loose fitting, dark muscle tank, sculpted shoulders and biceps on display. It tapers down to his slim waist, covered in gym shorts that cut off just above his knees, hard, well defined calf muscles below. Struggling to breathe, Keith just barely manages not to drool. Under the scrutinizing gaze of Pidge there's no way to deny it.

Okay so maybe he's attracted to Lance.

"That was quite the round of calisthenics. They really put me through the wringer," Lance breathlessly smiles.

He lifts the hem of his tank top to wipe at the sweat on his face, revealing more tantalizingly smooth skin with the hint of hard abs underneath. Keith's eyes go wide, Pidge's subsequent snicker suggesting they might even be bugging a little.

Fine so he's _really fucking_ attracted to Lance.

Noticing Keith's stunned silence, Lance leans closer towards him, encroaching dangerously into his personal space. "Keith, are you alright?"

"Uh..."

"Yeah Keith? Everything okay?" Pidge asks, a mocking sweetness in her tone.

"Yeah," he chokes. Has he always sounded so gravelly? Swallowing the lump in his throat he attempts to continue. "Yeah I'm good. Just, ah, wondering where you got the clothes?"

Now it’s Lance’s turn to mock him. “I imagine from the same place you got your own,” he says running his eyes down Keith, still in the workout gear the lab techs lent him, to make his point.

“Right… of course.”

They both stare at him. Pidge clearly in amusement while Lance just looks slightly confused.

“Right, so… are we free to go now? Or must we meet with Coran again?” Lance asks.

“No.” Keith blinks, trying to get it together. “We can go. Coran said he’d be in touch when the results come back.”

“Excellent. I, myself, am famished. I do hope you have something prepared for dinner?”

Pidge bursts into laughter beside them. Full, loud belly laughs. Even going so far as to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye when she finally tapers off into something more controlled.

“Keith cook?” She cackles. “You’re better off fending for yourself.”

“She’s…” He sighs defeatedly. “Not wrong. Don’t worry we’ll pick up some fast food on the way home.”

“Fast food?” Lance inquires.

“It’s easier if I just show you.”

“If you insist. Shall we go change then?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you outside? Just gonna finish talking to Pidge.”

“Alright.” Lance turns to Pidge. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too. See you later, Lance.” She nods, still smiling from the thought of Keith attempting to cook.

As they watch Lance leave the lab, Keith’s eyes travel down his body, landing on the swell of what looks to be a firm, pert ass. He can't help it. Honestly.

Next to his ear, Pidge asks in a knowing voice, “you sure you're not into him?”

But he can only stare in response, eyes never leaving the tall, gorgeous man’s backside. 

Oh no, this can't be good.

 


	3. Frustration

Frustration. He’s tired, wants to punch things, wants to crawl out of his skin, wishes he could be anyone else, because anyone else would be able to do this.

Lance sits across from him, those damn entrancing blue eyes watching him with growing concern. The fact that he's so beautiful up close, long eyelashes, bowed, pink lips, chocolate hair with a shaggy fringe that almost reaches his eyes, it’s not helping. He's too much, too luring, too… distracting.

An angry cry rips from his throat as he snatches his hands from Lance’s grasp. The heat from their contact seeps through his skin and down to his bones, almost mocking him at this point.

“Perhaps it's time we admit defeat.”

He slams a fist down on the table, water glasses shaking with impact. “No!”

“Keith.” Lance’s lips are pressed firm, whatever he's about to say stalled for a second as his eyes sweep over him. “You should at least rest for a while.” His tone is sweet, soothing, a sharp contrast to Keith's roiling anger.

They've been at this for at least an hour. Huddled over the kitchen table, hands clasped together and Keith fruitlessly trying to will himself into timing. Into getting Lance home.

“Coran suggested we let it happen naturally, not to force it.”

Defeated he hunches over, elbows resting on the table while his hands grip tightly into his inky locks. An anguished whispered, “I can't,” spilling out.

“Pardon? I can't hear you like that.”

When he looks up Lance is frowning at him.

“I said I can't. I can't just wait around and do nothing.”

Sighing, Lance leans back in his chair, prompting Keith to sit up and do the same. He rubs his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms into sore, aching eyes. Another sigh has him peeking through his fingers to see Lance watching him, an exasperated but soft look in his eyes.

“When you asked Shiro to take me back he had mentioned his body needed time to rest, no?”

Dropping his hands, Keith nods.

“I've only been here two days, surely you need more time to recover.”

The soft look filters into Lance’s voice and Keith has to look away to stop the pounding in his chest. He stares hard out the window, concentrating on the snowflakes that have just started to fall, watching the way the tiny pieces twist in the wind, the last of his anger falling with them.

“Don't you miss it?” He asks in a small voice.

“Miss what?”

“New Orleans. Your home… your time.”

“Oh.”

It's said so quietly Keith turns back to see Lance’s eyes on the table. He squirms a little in his seat, folding his hands in front of him. “I suppose a little.”

The way he fidgets, the low, somber cadence of his words tugs at Keith. He wants to reach out and place his hands over those entwined, dark fingers. Instead he asks, “just a little?”

“I wonder how my family is doing. My mother and sisters, Madame Ryner.”

It reminds Keith of something he'd wanted to ask earlier.

“When I met Madame Ryner she called you something. Mon - mon sha-tun?” He tries sounding out the word.

Lance smiles, both at his attempt and the term of endearment. “Mon chaton. My kitten. Madame Ryner has been with my family since before I was born, she's like a second mother to my siblings and I. She used to say one day I would grow to be a fearless lion yet would always remain her little kitten.”

His smile falls a little with the memory. Feeling even worse for dragging Lance here and away from the people he loves, Keith looks at him with mournful eyes, his voice barely a whisper.

“I'm so sorry Lance.”

Lance leans forward, smile twisting into a pleading one as his ribs press into the edge of the table.

“No, Keith don't be. I - I'm not content at home. It's not - my business is not my pleasure, it's my fathers.”

Keith stares at him, taken aback by his confession.

Lance continues. “My life has been planned since infancy. What school I would attend, what employment I would gain,” he laughs ruefully. “At home, my life is not my own.”

He's looking out the window now, a far-off gaze in his eyes like he's not even seeing what's in front of him.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Sighing, he looks back at Keith about to speak when something stalls his words. His eyes catch Keith's, entrancing them both. Without thought, Keith doesn't even know he's leaning in until he feels the hot puff of Lance's breath across his face. His eyes follow the curve of his face down to Lance’s lips, shiny and inviting.

“I…” Lance trails off. A pink tongue darts out to swipe across his lips before he tries again. “I -”

Keith flicks his eyes back to Lance’s and startles at the emotion in them. Conflict wars within, the heavy blue resembling clouds before a hailstorm, dark and swirling. Their eyes hold in this moment, all movement frozen. Keith counts the beats of his heart. One, two, three… Lance starts to lean back, those tempest eyes dropping off and to the side.

“I don't know.”

Releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Keith drops his gaze to the table, feeling like he's missing something but not wanting to push. The sound of a truck passing below the window filters through the room.

“Enough of me,” Lance says, breaking the silence with a forced lightness in his voice. “What of you?”

“Ah,” Trepidation fills Keith. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmmm,” Lance makes a show of thinking about it, even bringing his hand up to rub at his chin. “What is your age?”

A relieved laugh slips past Keith's lips. “Really?”

Lance smirks at him.

Okay, he’ll play along. “I'm 26.”

Lance’s smile widens, turning devilish. “I had no idea you were so over the hill.”

“Right,” Keith snorts. “And how old are _you_?”

“25.”

He levels Lance a deadpan stare. “We’re the same age.”

“Not quite. I'm slightly younger,” Lance teases. He eyes Keith for a second, eyes crinkling when he adds, “and slightly more handsome.”

Caught off guard by the boast, Keith giggles. Actually fucking giggles like a 12-year-old girl. Rolling his eyes and covering his cheeks in an attempt to hide his embarrassment he tries to steer the conversation away from just how handsome he thinks Lance really is. “What else do you want to know?”

Delighted with Keith's reaction Lance's answering smile is blinding. He reaches for his chin again. “You’ve mentioned that you moved around a lot, why is that?”

Oh.

Keith's hands drop back to the table as quick as his smile fades. Tragic backstory time is his least favourite thing to do, in fact he’s never really told anyone who hadn't already known part of it before, except for Shiro. “Well -”

“I’ve said something wrong,” Lance interrupts. His smile has fallen as well with an open look of worry replacing it. “I apologize. You do not need to answer.”

But just like that first time at dinner in 1891 Keith finds himself sharing, actually wanting to share. “No it's okay, it's just… not something I usually talk about.”

Lance looks like he's about to say something more but holds his tongue, watching Keith with apprehension.

“My mother died when I was 6. Timing has always been… difficult for me. You've seen what it's like, how much pain I feel.”

He swallows and wide eyes stare back at him. Lance nods faintly.

“We were driving one night when I started to time out, I'd only been timing for a little over a year and my mother was always trying to help, trying to make it easier for me somehow. So she pulled the car over and held on to me while I left, except she didn't pull over far enough…”

The stinging in his eyes threaten to create tears, he closes them before continuing.

“It was dark and the lights of the car were off. The driver of a semi truck never even saw her. When I timed back it was in the aftermath, I - I couldn't even recognize our car. Later they told me she died on impact.”

Just as a tear, hot and prickly, spills down his face he feels warm hands envelope his own. He opens his eyes to see blue ones, glassy with their own unshed tears looking back.

“Keith,” Lance whispers. “I am so very sorry.”

Raising a hand to wipe his eyes, he pushes past the tightness in his throat and continues. “It was just us, I never knew who my dad was. I think maybe he was timer. So after mom died I went into the foster care system, but no one knew how to handle a kid that time travelled. Even the homes had trouble with me. I'd stay somewhere until something would happen then get shipped off to the next place. I must've lived in at least a dozen places… I don't know, I stopped counting after a while.”

His breaths are heavy and he feels exposed, like his chest has been cracked open for Lance to see. He should be mortified, being this vulnerable in front of someone. And he is, but only a little. With Lance he feels different, not threatened but… safe.

“That is most unfair.” The light of Lance's eyes are almost burning in anger. It startles Keith. “Would that I could have done something for you.”

And the honest remorse in his voice is just too much. An incredulous huff leaves Keith, some of the heaviness in his heart leaving with it.

“Done something? You weren't even in this time period.”

Lance grimaces. Softly he replies, “just the same.”

Touched and more than a little shaken at Lance's words and support he squeezes Lance’s hand, happy just to sit there, quietly in his kitchen with him.

After a few minutes a sudden buzzing in his pocket shatters the moment.

**Incoming text: Manager**

**Hey man haven't heard from u in a few days just wonderin if ur comin to work today**

Keith swears under his breath. He'd completely forgotten about work. Another buzz.

**The kids have been askin for u**

He groans. If there's anything he truly hates it's letting the kids down. But what would he do with Lance?

“What is it?” Lance asks.

“It's work. I completely forgot I'm scheduled today.” He bites his lip in contemplation. He could probably bring Lance with him.

“Really?” Lance sounds interested. “What do you do?”

“I work at the community centre, usually just helping out with set up and tear down, things like that. But lately I've been doing a self defence workshop for the after-school program… that's what I'm supposed to do today anyway.”

“So should we be preparing the depart?” Lance is already planting his hands on the table as if to push off.

“You -” Keith blinks in surprise. “You want to go?”

“Absolutely… unless you'd rather I not accompany you?”

“No!” He's quick to interject. “It's fine, I just didn't think you'd be interested.”

It makes Lance chuckle. “Well sitting in your kitchen is quite riveting.” The sarcasm is accompanied by that smirk so often found on Lances features.

“Okay, point taken. I'll just let them know then we can go.”

His fingers tap the screen of his phone.

_Hey, yeah. Sorry for not checking in. I'll be there soon_

**Gr8! I'll go tell the kids**  
**c u soon**

 

* * *

 

They take his car, Lance staring reverently at the late 90’s Corolla like it's the latest Tesla model. When they get in he melts into the passenger seat, running his hands smoothly over every surface he can touch.

“I'd heard talk of horseless carriages but never could have pictured something such as this.”

“You’d probably lose your mind over some of the newer cars,” Keith muses. “Google is even working on a self-driven one.”

“Self-driven?” Lance sounds mystified.

“Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about it.” To put his life in the hands of a machine? Pidge and him have spent more than a few late nights arguing over its merits.

The drive to the community centre isn't far but Keith finds himself wishing he'd taken a longer route when they get there. The excitement and wonder in Lance as they'd driven through the city leaves him with a buoyant sort of feeling. The unbridled enthusiasm of Lance seeping its way into his hardened cracks.

They enter the low ceilinged, single story building, Keith leading as he takes them towards one of the multipurpose rooms. The walls are littered with community posters and children’s artwork, creating a cheerful, family atmosphere despite the bars on the windows. They’re turning down a weathered hallway when a large man, skin just slightly darker than Lance, yellow bandana wrapped around his forehead, enters their path.

“Keith, hey! Good to see you.” An easy grin falls on the man's face as he gets closer, his eyes turning curious when he notices Lance beside him.

“Hey,” Keith says a little nervously. He's never brought someone to work with him. “Um, I hope it's okay that I brought my f-friend.” He stutters on this last word, feeling as though it's not quite right. Neither man seems to notice.

“Yeah sure no problem.” The man turns to Lance. “Nice to meet you, I'm Hunk.”

The greeting smile Lance had started stalls on his face, his eyebrows knit together and he side eyes Keith in accusation. “You’re doing this on purpose now.”

Trying to hide his amusement and just barely choking back a laugh Keith shakes his head minutely. Lance's eyebrows rise to the sky.

“Ahhh what?” Hunk asks, eyes darting between the two men. Understandably he's very confused.

“My apologies, I’m having difficulty adjusting to the strange names of people in the future. Lance McClain at your service.”

Lance offers his hand in greeting which Hunk takes after some hesitation. Then his mind seems to register Lance’s words.

“Wait, the future?”

Keith stiffens noticeably, causing Lance to worry. “Oh dear, was I not supposed to say anything?”

“Oh!” Hunk exclaims like it's all coming together. “You’re a timer too?”

“Ummm…” Keith stalls, trying to gauge Hunk’s reaction before deciding if they're better off keeping Lance’s origins to themselves.

But Lance and his big friendly mouth are already answering. “Well I wasn't until I met Keith.”

Hunk is looking wide eyed between the two of them again, mind ticking as he tries to put it all together.

“I'm from New Orleans, in the year 1891.” Lance helpfully supplies.

Hunching his shoulders as if to shield himself from Hunk’s possible brain meltdown, Keith holds his breath.

“Really?” It's quiet, hushed. A beat of silence goes by and then... “that's so cool!” Hunk beams at them both, eyes still wide but now in wonder. He slaps a hand to Keith’s bicep. “I had no idea you could do that man.”

“Ah, this is the first time it's ever happened.”

“No way. Oh man that's even cooler.”

“Pardon me but I don't understand what the temperature has to do with our predicament.” It would appear Lance is the one now left confused.

It causes Hunk to laugh, loud and boisterous. “Dude there's so much for you to catch up on. Cool is slang for like awesome or rad or…” he searches his mind for a better definition, one Lance might actually know, “impressive.”

Hunk slings an arm around Lance’s shoulders, carefree and casual, like they're already best friends and starts walking them back on course to where the self defence class is scheduled. Keith follows behind, bewildered at Hunk’s response though not entirely surprised. He always seemed to be a pretty accepting person.

“So what about like ‘hit me up’ or ‘chill dude’?” Hunk is questioning Lance as they get closer.

“I don't understand those,” Lance confirms but then smiles and adds proudly, “however I do know about cosplaying.”

Hunk barks out a surprised laugh. “Okay, I _need_ to know how that came up. Is Keith a secret cosplayer? What fandom?”

And Keith is just about to interrupt this ridiculous line of conversation when they walk through the doors of the large, fluorescent lit room and are greeted with a chorus of “Keith!”

There's not a ton of kids today but the regulars are there, the ones that are always asking him what moves he'll teach next whenever they see him. A few come running over to say hi.

A short, curly brown-haired girl about 9 years old shuffles in front of him, fingers wiggling in a shy little wave. Beside her a taller, wiry framed boy moves in, his eyes dancing excitedly.

“Where'd you go Keith?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, tilting his head to the side.

“You weren't here last time,” the boy says, bouncing on the spot. “Did you time somewhere cool, like 300 years in the future? Could people read minds? Were there hover cars?”

“No. I don't think anyone's ever gone that far ahead before.”

The kids collectively let out a disappointed “aaawwww.”

“So then, where were you?” Another girl asks. She's one of the older ones, probably about 15.

He frowns a little. The kids are always asking about timing and he gets it, it's a novelty for them. But they treat him like some sort of superhero and he doesn't want to glamorize timing. As far as he's found there's nothing glamorous about it.

Chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek, he looks around at the expectant faces surrounding him, his eyes slowly settling in the corner of the room where Lance is standing off centre with Hunk. Satiny blue eyes regard him with a gentle look, the corners of his mouth turned up just a little. He nods at Keith encouragingly.

“I - I actually went backwards, over a hundred years.”

The response is instantaneous, kids crowding into his space, all chattering animatedly at once.

“What was it like?”

“How long were you there?”

“Did you meet your great, great, great grandfather or something?”

The barrage of questions and attention instantly overwhelms him. He puts his hands up to fend them off. “Whoa, I can't answer all at once.”

Another younger boy standing just outside of the group and looking a little awkward blurts out, “did you have to use your ninja moves?”

This makes him laugh as he looks back to Lance whose shoulders are shaking with his own laughter, eyes twinkling and smile bright. It pulls the corners of his own mouth higher.

“No. Thankfully I didn't have to defend myself. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be prepared. Who wants to learn how to break out of a hold?”

“Me,” can be heard echoing through the ring of children around him, some shooting up their hands and jumping.

He chuckles. “Okay then let's get started.”

The children disperse as they always do when it comes time to practice, putting lots of space between themselves so they can manoeuvre. Before beginning he jogs over to Lance.

“Will you be alright just watching here?”

Hunk cuts in before Lance can reply. “No problem, he can hang out with me.”

Lance looks at Hunk, one eyebrow raised. “I think that will be fine but how exactly does one ‘hang out’?”

Hunk’s laughter fills the room and he claps Lance on the shoulder. “This is gonna be fun. Here come help me clean up another room.” Then he's pulling Lance back towards the door.

A stab of panic goes through Keith. Should they really be separating? What if he starts to time and Lance isn't there? “Uh, I'm not sure that's a good-”

“Don't worry dude, we'll check in.”

Nervously he searches Lance's face for a sign of apprehension but the latter appears to be perfectly at ease. “Worry not Keith. You have my word I won't go far.”

It's the luminous smile he gets from Lance that melts away some of his anxiety and he tries to push down the rest. They've been in each other's space since Lance got here. A little bit of time apart will be good, right?

“So tell me Hunk, what do people in the future do for entertainment?”

He hears Hunk’s answer just as they start walking down the hall. “Well I know a heliskiing instructor if you're into snow sports.”

Internally Keith cringes.

 

* * *

 

An hour later he's searching the rooms for Lance and Hunk, having finished teaching the kids various holds and how to break them with only one completely minor incident, thank you very much. He nears the end of the east wing, where most of the senior classes take place, when he hears their airy voices filtering out into the hallway. They both sound animated and cheery and he wonders what they've been talking about this whole time. Curious, he stands beside the door on the other side of the wall, just out of sight and strains to hear the conversation within.

“You've never had to cook before?” Hunk sounds incredulous.

“Our housekeeper and kitchen staff have always taken care of it.”

Quiet grunting and the ringing of chairs clashing together mixes in with their words.

Hunk whistles. “You must be loaded.”

There's a pause and then laughter coming from Hunk. “Guess you don't know that one either? It means rich, lots of money.”

“Oh,” Lance sounds surprised by that. “Then yes, I suppose I am loaded.”

Another chuckle from Hunk escapes and the scraping of chairs along the linoleum floor meets Keith's ears. He leans his head back against the wall, wondering what Lance thinks of all the colloquialisms Hunk’s teaching him.

“How long have you been acquainted with Keith?”

Keith jerks at his name then flushes. Which is ludicrous, why would Lance asking about him do that?

“Hmm… just over a year I think. Met him when he started working here.”

“Is this his only position?”

“You know I'm not sure, the guy mostly keeps to himself.”

“How come?” The bewildered tone in Lance’s voice almost makes Keith laugh. The “foreign” idea of not sharing everything about yourself with someone you hardly know is so very... Lance.

“Don't know. I've never wanted to pry, you know? Seems like he wouldn't appreciate it.”

He can hear Lance humming to himself. “He's quite good with the children though.”

A bark of laughter from Hunk has Keith on the defensive, he thought he was doing alright too.

“What?” Lance asks.

“Nothing. He’s good _now_ , but you should have seen him at first. He was like painfully awkward.”

“Why would he have taken the job if it made him uncomfortable?”

Hunk sounds sly. “I may have forced him into it.”

Now it's Lance's turn to scoff. “Keith does not strike me as one who can be forced into anything.” He almost sounds proud. It sparks a fluttering in Keith's chest.

“Okay maybe forced is the wrong word, I guess more like I made him feel super guilty.”

It has Keith remembering how Hunk had asked him in front of all the kids, everyone, including Hunk, giving him sad, pleading puppy eyes. Try has he might to appear standoffish, only the truly heartless can say no to fifteen plus puppy dog pouts.

“So like there were some guys in the lobby arguing and it was getting really heated so Keith stepped in, which must have pissed off this one dude because he threw a punch.” He can hear Lance gasp. “Right? But Keith man, he was so fast! One minute the guy’s going for a sucker punch and the next he's face down on the ground with Keith’s knee on his back and his arm twisted behind him. And it happened right in front of the kids so for weeks it's all they'd talk about every time they saw him.”

“It does sound rather impressive.”

“It was, so even though Keith doesn't actually work for the after-school program, I’m technically the manager of all community centre programs so I pulled some strings and set it up so he could volunteer to teach a self defence class but still get paid.”

“Well it looks to me as though you did him a favour.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“One can't be aloof and detached all the time.”

And that right there is his que. Stepping forward, Keith decides he's been eavesdropping long enough and the direction they're taking really does not need to be discussed.

“Hey.” Both heads shoot towards Keith, Hunk with a friendly smile but Lance with a startled look that turns chagrined. “I'm finished.”

“Great! Thanks again man.” Hunk lifts the last of the chairs into a tall tower, powerful arms making the motion look completely effortless. He slaps his hands together, exaggerating the show of cleaning up.

“Do you need help with anything?” Keith asks anyway.

“Nah I've got it covered, you guys can head out.”

Finally recovered from the shock of Keith’s appearance Lance looks to Hunk once more. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah totally. I'm sure you guys have things to do. Trying to get back home and all that.”

Keith cocks his head at Lance, wondering again what the two men have been talking about. “Right.”

“Well Hunk I must say it's been an absolute pleasure ‘hanging out’ with you.” Lance now has a wide grin in place, reaching his hand out to shake Hunk’s once again. This time Hunk doesn't hesitate.

“Same here.”

Lance is just starting to join Keith in the doorway when Hunk speaks up behind them. “Hey you guys should totally come to my place some time. Let me cook for you.”

“Uh-” Keith is already trying to make up some excuse when Lance is cutting in, his curiosity piqued.

“You cook?”

“Yeah all the time. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Just ask Keith, I brewed a mean Kombucha for him the other week.”

Lance is confused again and Keith finds himself floundering. “Yeah it was ah… interesting.” He ducks his head, embarrassed. That wasn't one of the responses he'd been practicing, he swears he used to be a quick thinker.

Hunk laughs anyway. “So you should totally come by, I'll make something new for you. You ever had sushi before?”

“Su-shi?” Lance asks.

“Yeah, raw fish wrapped in seaweed and rice? It's Japanese.”

Keith waits on bated breath while Lance considers. Silently trying to will Lance into turning Hunk down.

“That would be delightful.”

“Really?” Keith and Hunk both say in unison but in two utterly different tones.

It makes Lance chuckle. “I’ve not had a home cooked meal since I've been here.”

Hunk throws a hand against his chest and Keith’s pretty sure he means to exaggerate the outrage on his face. “That is just unacceptable.”

Lance looks at Keith, the excitement plain in his eyes but still he doesn't want to. There's a reason he has Hunk listed as manager in his phone. Though it has nothing to do with the likeability of Hunk and everything to do with his own self preservation. But Lance and him already act like friends…

“Okay.” Keith says, trying to keep the peevishness out of his voice. “Sounds like a plan.”

The full toothed, blue eyes sparkling grin that Lance gives him very nearly makes it worth it. In any case it definitely takes his breath away.

“Awesome! I'll text you later to organize. You should bring some friends, we'll make it a whole dinner party thing.”

Keith nods shortly, realizing he needs to get out of there before this dinner gets anymore out of hand. As he's leaving the room Lance calls one more goodbye over his shoulder and hurries to catch up with Keith.

“This will be most exciting.” Lance means it too, his whole body practically vibrating with it.

Still Keith frowns. “Mmm hmm.”

“Oh come now Keith.” A pointy elbow jabs into his side. “Can't I enjoy myself while I’m here?”

It’s such a strange state of mind to Keith, enjoying oneself while timing. It’s something Shiro has suggested more than once but honestly when Keith finds himself in a strange place and time he’s solely focused on basic survival; food, shelter, safety. Having a good time is so far out of mind he rarely even thinks of it. Still though, it’s no reason to rain on Lance’s parade.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, feeling a little more resigned.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, Lance with an extra little bounce in his step. Again Keith marvels at the ease in which Lance has adjusted.

When they make it back to his car he slides into the driver's seat, twisting the keys in the ignition as soon as Lance buckles his seatbelt. As it rumbles to life beneath them he can’t help but smile when Lance breathes out a little impressed, “ooohh,” clearly still not over the novelty of driving.  
The air has turned bitterly cold during the time they’ve been inside, probably due to the fact that the sun has sunk below the line of buildings, the last remaining rays breaking through at random intervals. He cranks up the heat, turning the fan as high as it can go. Cold air blows hard across their faces and Lance yelps.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles, trying not to smirk. “It’ll warm up when we get moving.”

The way Lance’s eyes pop open wide and surprised does finally pull a smirk from his lips. He turns his eyes to the road as he pulls out of the parking lot, expecting another onslaught of questions but they never come. Unable to stop his curiosity Keith peeks to the side to see Lance moving his hand over the air vent, fingers dancing gleefully in the rush of air. It really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

Hit with a sudden inspiration Keith flicks on the radio, the pounding drums and driving riffs of Royal Blood’s “I Only Lie When I Love You,” blasting through the speakers. Amazed to be hearing a song he actually likes on the radio Keith turns it up, hands drumming the beat into the steering wheel.

“What is this?” Lance breathes beside him, shock loud and clear in his voice.

Pretending like he didn't plan this Keith aims for nonchalance, coolly raising an eyebrow. “It’s music. You must have heard music before.”

“Of course,” Lance tries his best to scowl yet his face quickly morphs back into one of wonder. “But never like this.”

Keith hums. “I guess electric guitars are still another 50 years away for you.” He looks over at Lance again, trying to decipher the face he’s making. “Do you like it?” Something weighted sits in his chest, anxiously waiting for Lance’s reply.

Lance’s look turns contemplative, the singer’s “I only lie when I…” repeating in the background.

“I… think so.”

Keith’s chest begins to lighten.

“It’s just rather… loud.”

For some reason the answer, so simple and honest yet so damn old school, disarms Keith, finally breaking him down as he laughs, booming and maybe just a little unhinged. Because the absurdity of this moment is not lost on him. That he's somehow become a guide to Lance’s modern experience. That right now he, Keith, someone who prefers to keep his guard up and people out, is introducing a person who belongs in the 1800’s to rock music… it's… a lot.

But all that stress and confusion and frustration from the past days float away with the ringing, untroubled sound that's escaping uncontrollably from his mouth. He gasps for air, tears threatening to form in the corner of his eyes. Futilely he tries to speak.

“It - it’s - s’point,” he wheezes.

Beside him Lance is scowling again. “I hardly think that reaction is warranted.” He folds his arms defensively across his chest, lower lip jutting out in an adorable pout.

Keith tries to reign in his laughter, wiping at his eyes. “I - I’m s-s-sorry.” A few more hiccupping laughs escape and he tries to give Lance an apologetic look, dissolving into giggles when he sees the corners of Lance’s mouth begin to curl upward involuntarily.

“Stop that,” Lance chides, no real heat behind his words. “Is all music like this now?”

Still snickering Keith finally gets himself under control, heaving a deep breath to blow it all away. “No, there’s actually _a lot_ of different types of music.”

To prove his point he switches up to one of those radio stations that claims to play “whatever we want,” Roxy Music’s “Love Is the Drug,” filtering through.

Unconsciously Lance tilts his head to the side, eyes unfocused as he listens to the music, the groove quickly sinking in as he begins to bob his head. “Oh yes, this I enjoy,” he proudly declares a few seconds later.

Keith watches as Lance leans back in his seat, fingers now tapping idly while his head continues to sway, the scenery flying by them to the new soundtrack. Eventually the song changes to a recent pop song that Keith can't place but the leisurely smile on Lance’s face has his mind working overtime.

Because like it or not _he is_ Lance’s guide and he doesn't even know how Lance feels about it. He's been so caught up in figuring things out and trying to get him home that he hasn’t even thought about showing Lance what everyday life is like. Sure, he bought him some clothes and answers the questions he asks but he's never tried to make this _fun_ for Lance. And if he's going to be around for awhile maybe that's the least he can do. Maybe that's what Lance has been trying to do for him all along.

His mind is still whirling away when they get back to his place. Shouldering his way through the door he kicks off his shoes and plops down on the couch, Lance following his lead. Shiro’s blow up mattress lies where the coffee table once did, blankets and pillows haphazardly draped over the surface. With nowhere to now rest his feet Keith tucks them underneath him, sitting cross legged and nervously drumming his fingers on the grey cushions. The quiet of the room is a stark contrast to their loud ride home and it beats at his nerves, finding himself at a loss for what to do next. How does he even start to entertain Lance?

“So…” He awkwardly begins, purposely looking at the wall just past Lance’s head to avoid eye contact.

Lance turns in his direction. Seeming to sense Keith's sudden unease his tone is almost shy as he replies. “So...”

Then they're both trying to speak at once.

“What-”

“Can I-”

Abruptly they stop, Keith meeting Lance’s gaze to dumbly stare at one another while they wait for the other to continue. Pink colours Lance’s cheeks and he ducks his head, abandoning whatever he'd been about to say. The urge to reach out and skim his pale fingers along those cheekbones flares hot within Keith. Instead he clears his throat.

“Sorry, what were you going to say?”

Lance peeks up at him, bright blue eyes hiding behind long, dark eyelashes. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks. “I wanted to ask what type of music you prefer.”

“Oh.” For such an easy question it feels strangely intimate. Like he's asking Keith to strip himself bare. Despite his trepidation a small thrill runs through him. “Mostly rock I guess.”

The silence presses in again until he offers. “I could just, um, play some for you… if you'd like?”

Lance leans forward excitedly, bumping their knees in the process. “Would you?” His eyes are deep animated whirlpools sucking Keith in. The colour so familiar, if he could just remember why.

“Keith?”

The creasing of those eyes breaks his trance. He blinks. “Ah, yeah sure. Let me just pull something up.”

Fumbling with his phone he pulls it out of his back pocket to bring up his playlist. It's been ages since he updated it, really only using it at the gym. The sudden daunting task of trying to pick a song for Lance is too much. What should he even lead with?

“I'll just put it on shuffle,” he decides aloud, leaving it up to fate and giving his frazzled nerves a break. They deserve it.

It starts out tame enough, the lone guitar playing a melody but Keith is already holding his breath, anticipating Lance’s reaction before the drums kick in. Sure enough Lance starts to frown as the intro plays on.

“What is this called?”

“It's, ah, Nirvana. Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

“Smells like what?” Lance’s voice pitches high with his question, eyebrows raising as well.

“Teen spirit,” Keith confirms.

Lance gives him an unconvinced look but shuts his mouth from its open gape. As they reach the chorus he’s wrinkling his nose. “And this is supposed to be singing?”

The dubious way Lance eyes him draws a small chuckle out of Keith, some of this awkward anxiety between them slipping away. “I guess you could call it a creative outlet.”

“For what?”

“Disillusioned youth. You know self important anger, the whole teenage rebellion thing.” Despite being about a decade behind the trend, Nirvana had done a lot for Keith's own disenfranchised youth.

“Hmmm… well I'm sorry to say Keith but I don't think I like this.”

“At least give the whole song a try. Nirvana was one of the forerunners of an entire musical movement and sub culture.”

Lance gives him a quizzical tilt of his head, trying to make sense of that statement. The grin that splits across Keith's face has a mind of its own. “Consider this a music history lesson.”

“Hmphf.”

They sit silently as the song plays out, Lance’s pinched and constipated look only getting worse as the song nears its end. Keith mentally crosses his fingers that the next song will be mellower, an irrational desire for Lance to approve of at least some of his musical tastes taking over. His heart sinks when the next song starts up, frantic guitar building in pitch with the addition of crashing drums. The opening unclean vocals of Alexisonfire’s “We Are the Sound,” screams through his phone speakers. Talk about rage filled teenage years.

Lance's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline and his eyes go wide.

“I was like 15 when this album came out,” Keith finds himself explaining. “This definitely spoke to my young, angry self.”

“Hmmm,” Lance hums to himself thoughtfully. “Given your history I think you had every right to be upset, though I didn't expect you to be so… full of angst.”

Keith doesn't know whether to be affronted or ashamed for being called out after only two songs but then Lance is smirking and playfully bumping their shoulders together.

“Shut up,” Keith half laughs, rolling his eyes and shoving at Lance’s shoulder.

Relief finally floods into Keith when the next song, Young the Giant’s “Something to Believe In,” has Lance tapping his foot against the floor.

“Now this is easier to listen to,” he states.

So they sit there on that small couch in Keith’s living room, the glow from the dying light of day growing dimmer as song after song fills the space around them, Lance casually making comments as they go by.

“Does it have to sound so strange?” He asks during alt-J’s “In Cold Blood.”

“To me that's half the appeal,” Keith explains, receiving a skeptical look in return.

After that Lance decides he likes the catchier bands like Death from Above, The Black Keys and Arctic Monkeys better than the heavier songs that started their evening. It’s understandable and Keith’s pretty sure he knows what genre of music Lance will end up liking best but he’ll be damned if he actively pushes him in that direction.

Feeling lighter than he has in days, possibly even months if he's really being honest, Keith nods his head along to the songs, the two of them quietly listening together like eager teenagers. Music has always been a big part of his life. Something that no one could take from him, no matter how often he moved or was uprooted. Sharing this with Lance, watching as Lance discovers that joy for himself feels almost like a privilege.

Starting to get antsy from the giddy feeling in his chest and the long time sitting - have they really been doing this for over an hour? - Keith rises from the couch, stretching his sore limbs before heading to the kitchen and completely missing the way Lance stared, transfixed by the sliver of pale skin that was revealed when his arms raised.

Deciding to tidy up he begins washing their dishes from the morning when Portugal. The Man’s “Feel It Still,” begins to play. Immediately his heel starts tapping along to the bass line, his upper body getting into the tune by the time the singer comes in, head nodding through the verse.

_”I keep my hands to myself.”_

He adds a little sway of his hips, rinsing a mug of soapy water off and adding it to the drying rack. Really feeling the groove now, it's a few more lines and he's mouthing along to the lyrics.

_“Ooh woo, I’m rebel just for kicks now.”_

He hears a muffled chuckle from behind him. Whirling around, there’s Lance leaning smoothly against the wall, his arms folded across his chest with an entertained smile. “This doesn’t really seem like your kind of song,” he teases.

“What? It was everywhere in the summer, it grew on me,” Keith defends.

“I quite like it.” Lance’s trademark smirk plays lightly over his face as he sends Keith a wink. “Especially if it makes you move like _that_.”

Desperately trying not to blush Keith turns back to the dishes, inwardly spinning. “You gonna just stand there watching or are you gonna help me?”

Faking an exasperated sigh Lance strolls over to the sink beside Keith, picking up a towel. “Only if you continue to dance,” he states, instantly swaying his own body gracefully and punctuating his statement with intermittent bumps of his hip against Keith’s until the embarrassed man finally gives in.

_”Got another mouth to feed.”_

The two of them bounce along to the rest of the song with playful ease, each singing every remaining, “ooh woo,” together.

At this rate Keith’s not sure the giddy feeling in his chest will ever go away.

“You should see the video for this,” he says, making conversation to distract himself from the cute way Lance hums under his breath. “It’s pretty weird.”

Lance’s motions pause. “Video?”

And that’s how they end up back on the couch, eating leftover Chinese food for dinner, Keith casting a list from YouTube called “MTV: 100 Greatest Music Videos Ever Made.” The list is good, all sorts of genres and artists present and Lance is beside himself the entire time, eagerly drinking it all in, in barely contained amazement. As predicted it’s the pop songs he gravitates to the most and it leads to hours of binging playlists and music videos, both men eventually dropping off to sleep right on the couch sometime in the early morning hours. Keith slumped sideways and pressed against Lance’s body and Lance with his cheek resting lightly against the top of Keith’s head.

 

* * *

 

It's a few more days before they hear from Coran. They pass the time in much the same way as that second day. Lance joins Keith at work, talking with Hunk and even helping a couple of the kids in the after-school program with their history homework, giving them the “insider scoop” as Hunk called it. In the evenings they start watching Netflix. Keith decides to ease him into it, choosing The Crown, something closer to Lance’s own time, as their first series. Unsurprisingly Lance loves every dramatic turn.

Coran asks them both to come in the next day and it immediately sets Keith on edge. Why couldn't he tell them at least _something_ on the phone? With not much to do but sit around and worry Lance suggests they try cook dinner for themselves.

“Your pacing is driving me mad and we could both benefit from learning a new skill.”

Pretty sure this idea will only end in disaster Keith goes along with it anyway, already knowing that Lance will just continue to complain the more he resists. He won’t admit it to himself but saying no to Lance is becoming more and more difficult, the pure joy he exudes absorbing into Keith in an almost intoxicating way. It just… feels really nice.

So they walk down to the local grocery store a few blocks from Keith’s house, bundled warmly in thick puffy jackets and winding scarves, Lance’s wrapped over half of his face with his beanie pulled low so only his blue eyes, sparkling in excitement can be seen. Tiny snowflakes float around them, dancing in the freezing gusts of winds that sting their exposed faces.

“I take it back,” Lance complains, words muffled from behind his scarf. “Maybe I’m not so fond of winter after all.”

Keith laughs under his breath and would probably grin if he could feel his face. Walking into the store he shakes the snow from his hair with one hand, completely messing it up. Beside him Lance tuts, a small smile on his lips as he reaches over to gently smooth down Keith’s hair. Beneath his hand Keith stills, startled at the casual touch. He watches him shyly.

“Much better.” Lance says sweetly. His smile growing into something fond and soft.

They hold eye contact a moment longer before Lance looks away, eyes widening at the sheer vastness of the store. His breath leaves him in a soft exhale. “Whoa.”

Heart pounding a little faster Keith reluctantly pulls away, leading Lance through the aisles with the taller man stopping every few feet to grab at some box or product. It’s slow going and Keith tries to curb his impatience. He almost does it.

“Lance, can you just follow me.”

Said man looks up at him, seeing the unimpressed look he’s getting he sighs resignedly. “Fine.”

Putting the box of confetti cake mix back on the shelf he finally pays attention to Keith and follows dutifully behind. They take a few more turns then Keith is stopping in front of a tall wall of boxes, packaged dinners stretching far down the aisle. Reaching out he hands a box to Lance, the picture of hard shelled tacos facing up. Lance takes the box and frowns, turning it over a few times, eventually bringing it up to his ear and shaking it.

“What is this?”

Just barely stopping his eye roll Keith responds. “It’s a packaged dinner. All we have to do is cook some meat.”

Lance’s frown deepens. “Seems like cheating to me.”

“If you want to make anything that’s actually edible we should stick to something like this.”

Lance eyes the box suspiciously then turns his attention to the shelves, quickly scanning over their options. Nose wrinkling he asks, “are you certain?”

“Pidge wasn’t lying. I don’t cook.”

Lance is still looking dubious. Keith sighs, turning back to the shelves to look for another option, a blue box catches his eye. Smiling to himself he grabs it.

“Do you trust me?” He asks Lance holding out the familiar box of macaroni and cheese, the staple he practically lived on when he'd finally struck out on his own, 18 and broke.

Watching him intently, Lance hesitates for a moment before taking the box in his own hands. “Yes.”

The confirmation sends a thrill through his chest. “Then you should try this. You’ll like it.”

Lance turns the box over to read the instructions, Keith taking advantage of his distraction to admire the way Lance looks under the bright lights. He’s still ridiculously bundled up but his scarf is pulled loose, revealing his rosy cheeks that have started unthawing in the heat of the store. The tip of his slightly pointy nose is also pink, leaving Keith with an almost overwhelming desire to lightly rub his own cold nose against it. God he really has to get a grip.

“So?”

Looking up from the box and fixing dull eyes to his, Lance shrugs unenthusiastically. “I suppose we can try it.”

Keith tries to sweeten the deal. “How about this, mac and cheese for dinner and we’ll stop in the dessert aisle and you can pick something?”

Lance perks up instantly. “Perfect.”

And the way he hurries down the aisle has Keith feeling like maybe he's just been played. When Lance looks back and sends him a devious smirk just before disappearing around the corner he _knows_ he's been played.

Grinning to himself he's just about to take off after Lance when he's slammed in the chest by an invisible force. The lights above him spin as he's knocked to the floor, realization hitting him in a blind panic.

Shit, Lance isn't _here._

He struggles in vain to get up, the splitting in his head only getting worse as he tries. Opening his mouth in an attempt to call out, only a choked breath escapes, his panic really setting in now.

Last time Lance was right in front of him but now he’s not even sure where he is. His mind is frantic, chaotic in the spin, grasping onto only one thought, _Lance_. Just as the pull of time grabs on and he reaches a fever pitch of terror, a slow soothing calm starts to trickle over him. At first it seems to come out of nowhere but it's steady and peaceful, cools his sparking nerves yet fills him with warmth at the same time. It feels exactly like… Lance.

Opening his bleary eyes against the rush around him he can't see _anything_ , but as the white void comes flashing up to surround him he knows that Lance is there, somewhere in that empty space with him.

At least he thinks Lance is there...

...Oh god please let Lance be there.

 

* * *

 

His face is squished against hot, solid pavement and he’s curled over his knees, shaking violently when the white dissolves. Around him he hears the bustle of a city, a horn honking, the chirp from a crosswalk, a few gasps as feet pound by his prone body. He waits until feeling begins to flow into his limbs before pouncing to his feet in a rush, fighting down the left over nausea from timing.

“Lance,” he barely croaks out, voice dry and strained.

His eyes dart around the busy sidewalk he’s appeared on, a few people stop nearby to get a closer look at him. He zeroes in on a similar crowd circled around something he can’t see across the street. A rush of hope springs up and he tries to clear his throat. This time his voice rings true and loud.

“Lance?”

“Keith!”

A head appears over that crowd, a mop of familiar brown hair peeking over top until it’s shoving it’s way between bystanders. Relief courses through him as Lance stands tall, waving his arms when he meets Keith’s eyes and Keith has never been this happy to see someone in his entire life. He sprints across the street, ignoring cars and traffic laws and just narrowly avoids getting squashed by a bus but he doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of Lance. He grips hard onto Lance’s elbows and is this close to pulling him in before he catches himself. His relieved smile shines through nonetheless.

Lance looks a little disheveled, hair sticking up in a couple directions and a sheen of sweat across his brow but otherwise intact. He asks anyway. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lance’s eyes practically dance across his face, exhilaration high in his voice. “That was incredible, we weren’t even near each other and still I came with you!”

Huh. Keith hadn’t even paused to think about that yet. Too worried about Lance. But what the-

“Where do you think we are?”

Keith blinks back to himself, tearing his eyes away from Lance to look around. Tall buildings reach up to the sky all around them, a few restaurants and food carts dispersed between. They’re standing in a plaza, steps leading up to buildings on either side of them, a few scraggly trees surrounded by concrete lining the sidewalk.

Most of the people around them are dressed in business wear, a majority of the men in suits and quite a few of the women as well, though their suits are more boxy with shoulder pads and angular cuts. A younger woman in casual wear walks by in a knitted sweater, thin rainbow lines running horizontal. Her jeans are flared and baggy in the hips but taper down at the ankles, her hair pulled into a ponytail that sits on the side of her head and bright red lipstick adorning her lips.

A smile curls up the corners of Keith’s own lips when he starts to suspect when they might be. If he’s right they’re not too far out of time and they should be fairly safe while they’re here. Needing to confirm he spots a newspaper stand nearby and strolls over, scanning the first page of a stack of papers. Lance slides up beside him and Keith’s smile turns into a smirk when he catches Lance’s eye.

Friday, August 24, 1990  
**The Seattle Times**

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “This is good?”

“It’s kind of perfect actually. We’re in a North American city less than 20 years back and even though it’s not common timers do exist here, it’s why no one really lost it when we sort of just apparated out of thin air.”

“Really?”

“Mm hmm.” Keith hums looking around once more. He’s never been to Seattle before, he should probably find a map or something. Beside him Lance is scanning the magazines so he turns back to the newsstand smiling once again when his eyes land on a thick brochure entitled “The Seattle Insider’s Guide.” He pays for it at the cashier, careful to only pay in bills produced before 1990. As a general rule he only keeps bills on him that were printed before the 1970’s as he usually doesn’t time further back then that, but a newer bill has slipped in once or twice so he always double checks before paying.

Tugging on Lance’s elbow to get his attention he motions towards a nearby bench, pulling him over to sit down. Just as he’s opening the brochure Lance speaks up. “So what now?”

“Usually I look for a quiet place to wait it out.”

A discontented noise rumbles from Lance’s chest. “That just sounds dull.”

Keith lifts his eyes from the brochure, fixing a glare at Lance. “Really? And what do _you_ think we should do?”

It makes Lance scoff. “Explore of course.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not like I’ll ever have this opportunity again.”

It makes Keith freeze because, oh. Oh shit. They’re here in Seattle and not…

“Lance I’m so sorry.”

Lance startles, looking at Keith confused. “For what?”

“For not bringing you home,” he whispers.

The shame and misery at being so useless overtakes Keith and he drops his head into his hands. He hadn’t even thought about it when the sensation of timing took over, he’d been so worried that Lance wasn’t even near him.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice is as gentle as it was in his kitchen the morning he’d talked about his mom. His hand lands on Keith’s knee and squeezes with a light pressure. “Home can wait.” He squeezes once more and waits until Keith lifts his head to look at him. “Like I said, when will I ever be here again?”

Lance smiles at him tenderly, melting away some of Keith’s self loathing. He gives a shaky smile in return and notices that Lance has yet to move his hand, the warmth of it radiating up his thigh to pool pleasantly in his gut. All too aware of their surroundings and all the people hurrying around them he straightens his back, silently mourning when Lance’s hand slides away.

“Okay. Well what do you want to do then?”

Smile turning mischievous Lance pulls the brochure from Keith’s hand. “Let me take a look at this.”

Turns out they’re right smack in downtown Seattle and not too far from Pike Place Market, which Lance decides should be their first stop considering a picture of the bright red words “Public Market” is on the front of their guide. They start their trek towards the market, Keith deciding to let Lance lead when he jumps up from the bench, excitedly exclaiming, “I believe it's this way!”

Only a few wrong turns later and they're walking down a narrow street, those large red letters rising to greet them. Outside the market it's busy, the sunny late summer day being a perfect time to explore. They mingle with the locals and tourists, watching merchants throw fish at each other, smiling at the colourful fruit and veggie displays at the grocery stalls. It's at a stall full of touristy trinkets that Lance tries valiantly to talk Keith into buying a horribly tacky t-shirt with a cartoon pig and the caption “this little piggy went to Pike Place Market” underneath. Keith easily takes a firm stand against Lance this time and is rewarded with a vaguely insulting compliment.

“Don’t worry, I fear not even this shirt can take away from your dark brooding magnetism.”

Momentarily shocked Keith’s mouth drops open, gaping. He tries to reign in the pounding of his heart and after a few seconds attempts to stammer out. “D-dark brood-ing?” He can't even say that last word out loud, a blush already rising steadily across his face.

Lance eyes him almost predatorily, languidly dragging his gaze up Keith’s body. “Mmm hmm,” he hums, taking another moment to follow the hard lines of Keith's body back down. The heat of his stare scorches Keith from inside. Without another word he turns on his heel walking off to the next stall as though he hasn’t just sent Keith’s entire mind reeling. Was brooding magnetism even a good thing?

Apparently his coordination has also taken a hit because he’s no more than two steps behind before he’s stumbling over his own feet, pitching forward and knocking into a table full of artisan beauty products. Lance, noticing the fumble, athletically twists back and grabs hold of Keith’s shoulders, righting him before he can make a total ass of himself. His face is full of amusement when Keith pushes him away, attempting to hide his embarrassment. Desperately hoping to take the attention away from himself Keith searches for something to say.

“I, ah, think the guide said that the very first Starbucks is somewhere around here, you wanna get a coffee or something?”

Still grinning from Keith's flustered state Lance at least has the good grace not to tease him outright. “Yes please, I am in desperate need of caffeine.”

A smile curls Keith’s lips once again as he appreciates Lance’s dramatics. “You know for someone from the 1800’s you really fit in here with your coffee addiction.”

“Do I?” Lance looks pleased with this information. “Perhaps I am cut out for the life of a timer then.”

“Well I think you're definitely better at it than I am,” Keith admits and his smile turns sad, “but I'd never wish that on you.”

Voice lowering as he speaks Lance has to strain to hear the end. When he does the teasing light in his eyes dies away, turning more earnest. “I'm sure without you to guide me I would not be faring so well.”

Not wanting to dampen the mood with his sullen and - oh shit he _is_ brooding - thoughts he tries to reassure Lance. “I think it's more than that but,” he looks up shyly at Lance, “having someone to time with does make it easier.”

Lance's face melts into something gentle as he leans in towards Keith. “Well I'm glad for it.”

It's the quickest of movements but Keith sees his eyes flicker down to Keith's mouth, licking his own lips before returning his gaze and smiling at Keith with a smile so bright and dazzling it takes his breath away.

“Now let's get that coffee.”

 

* * *

 

“Remind me again why I agreed to this,” Lance shouts, voice way too loud in his panic.

An elderly couple a few feet away give them an unimpressed look, clearly assuming that Lance is embellishing, putting on a show. Keith's not so sure this time.

They're standing on the observation deck of the Space Needle, 520 feet above the city, Lance currently pressed against the glass of the building he's now outside of. It's taken Keith twenty minutes to talk Lance into leaving the sanctuary of inside to walk along the outside deck. At the time he really did think Lance was only being theatrical but now with those wide, fearful blue eyes and slight pallor to his skin Keith is reconsidering.

“You should come see this view,” he says standing up from his crouch where he peered through a viewfinder. “Unless you're too scared,” he tries to goad.

Lance glares at him in return but doesn't move. “It's not that I'm afraid, I just prefer not falling over the edge, thank you.”

“We’re caged in,” Keith says aporetic, waving his arms at the bars fencing them in.

“Just the same,” Lance huffs, crossing his arms over her chest, a tiny pout on his face as he looks away.

Heaving a sigh Keith slowly makes his way over to Lance, standing in his line of vision so he has nowhere else to look but at him. “C’mon,” he says quietly, tugging on the sleeve of Lance’s shirt. “I’ll be right here. I promise nothing will happen to you.”

Expecting Lance just to begrudgingly follow behind him he's thrown off balance when Lance launches himself at him, clutching onto his arm like a terrified octopus. “How can you be sure?” He whispers, any sense of bravado falling away.

Regaining his balance he scowls at Lance before noticing his openly frightened face and slightly shaking fingers. He takes a deep breath and lets himself relax, patting a free hand over one of Lance’s that's currently digging into the muscle of his bicep. “You said you trusted me right?”

Peering at Keith, Lance slowly nods his head.

“Okay, then let’s just go over to the viewfinder.”

He makes sure to keep his steps small and slow, carefully inching them towards their destination at the edge of the walkway. Lance's quick, hot breath hits his neck, now exposed from the wind that blows around them, his hair flying in every direction. It's not until they reach the viewfinder and Lance has stood there for several minutes that he finally relaxes his death like grip of Keith's arm, the rush of blood sending prickles down to his fingertips. Lance is stuck in quiet awe, his gaze scanning the horizon around them, just a small amount of fear lingering in those impossibly wide blue eyes.

“You want to follow the walkway?” Keith asks, deciding to test the waters.

Lance sends him an incredulous look. “Certainly not.” But then he adds a little quieter, “thank you though. I would hate to have missed this view.”

They stay rooted to their spot along the railing for a little while longer, hushed and serene, Lance still with his arm linked around Keith’s. The sun begins to set in the west, its long shadows casting over the vibrant city below them. The blue of the sky turning slightly darker above while the scattered, wispy clouds begin to take on a light pinkish hue around their edges. Eventually Keith leads them back to the safety of inside, Lance only letting him go once they reach the elevators.

“I think I may need to sit down after that,” Lance dramatically announces, hand held over his heart and closing his eyes as he slumps against the elevator wall.

Keith chuckles beside him. “Yeah okay, we’ll find a spot outside.”

Lance cracks open an eye to make sure Keith’s watching, smirk playing across his face when he sees his amusement.

They find a bench in the park surrounding the Space Needle, Lance throwing himself down while Keith drops lithely beside him. Giving Lance a moment to collect himself Keith picks up a local magazine that’s been left behind and skims through the entertainment section. The sky around them has darkened since their descent from the observation deck, layers of orange and red still clinging low on the landscape, the very first hint of stars peeking down at them. Lance begins to hum a tune that Keith doesn’t recognize low in his throat, the quiet melody weaving itself into the twilight that surrounds them.

Glancing up Keith watches as the orange light shrinks below the buildings in front of him, thoughts turning melancholy as he finds himself wishing this moment could stretch a little longer. Sitting here with the reassuring presence of Lance, the warmth of his body heating the space between them and settling contentedly in his chest, Keith realizes the fuzzy feeling tingling through his body is peace. Something he hasn’t felt for a very long time.

Sighing to himself he turns back to the magazine, scanning over the upcoming acts. His eyes widen as they fall upon familiar names. Sonic Youth with Nirvana and STP are actually playing this very night in Seattle. It can’t be coincidence that not even three nights ago the very first song Keith played for Lance was Nirvana and now they’re literally in the town where grunge took off at a time when it all started. Excitedly he glances over in Lance’s direction only to find him still leaning heavily into the bench, his head tilted back but eyes closed, still softly humming to himself. Keith feels himself deflate as he absorbs Lance’s tranquil state. He looks so sweet and just so damn _beautiful_ like that, and Keith knows that a punk/grunge/rock show is probably the last thing he should be subjecting Lance to, but…

Looking back at the magazine he chews his lip while reading over the acts again when a large ad beside the listings catches his eye. It takes up half the page, it’s a wonder he didn’t see it before. He visibly starts upright when he reads it, Lance taking notice and sitting up as well to turn questionly towards Keith.

“Are you okay?”

Mind made up seconds ago he looks at Lance. “Want to go to a show tonight?”

It piques Lance’s interest. “What kind of show?”

Keith lets a slow impish grin spread. “A music concert. Artists playing their songs on stage.”

“What kind of artists?” Lance asks slowly, cautiously, as if Keith might be luring him into some sort of trap.

“Can I keep it a secret?”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Have I heard of them?”

“Yes.”

Lance eyes him again, carefully scrutinizing his face. After a moment he grins, eyes twinkling once more in anticipation. “Okay.”

“Wait, really?”

Stunned at Lance’s willingness to blindly trust him Keith blinks. It's something he doesn't have a lot of, this faith that someone else will genuinely look out for him. The fact that Lance seems to have this with Keith is honestly blowing his mind a bit.

“Yes let’s go to a music concert,” Lance announces, parroting Keith’s words from just a minute ago. He slaps his thighs and jumps up, looking back at Keith expectantly and extending his hand.

“Shall we?”

 


	4. Fascination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [**the beautiful artwork**](https://shiverslightly.tumblr.com/post/172323499142/keith-stares-intent-on-the-man-in-front-of-him) @seikamoomoo did for a scene this chapter!

Fascination. In the back of a taxi, in a city he’s never been to before, in the year 1990, he can’t look away. Lance is staring out the window, picking up the tune he’d been humming earlier as he watches the streets and people that pass by. Keith though, only has eyes for Lance and the way the passing lights highlight his features, long eyelashes and high cheekbones, sharp jaw and soft lips way more mesmerizing than anything happening outside. And he knows that he’s never felt this way before. That he’s never not been able to look away.

But it’s more than just his pretty face and unfairly attractive body. It’s the way Lance makes him feel, the way he’s never felt so totally consumed by another person. Even when Lance turns and catches him staring, he doesn’t feel the urge to look away embarrassed. Instead he smiles, true and genuine, and falls even harder when Lance grins back, radiant in the light of the street that filters through.

Too quickly they reach their destination, breaking Keith from his silent reverie. Stepping out of the taxi and onto the curb, the area around them is buzzing. The Coliseum looms before them, it’s white triangular roof and glass exterior lit up from the lights surrounding it. Hoards of fans are lined up at the gates, scalpers shouting out ticket prices and music from a local radio station blasting from their van. Keith watches as Lance takes it all in, staring up at the white arches above the main doors. His head whips around taking in the sheer amount of people hurrying all around them, the crowd swells as the thunderous bass of a song echoes from within the arena. Keith’s already grinning when stunned eyes lock onto his.

“I've never seen a crowd so large,” Lance breathes, wonder and excitement mixed with his words.

“Hopefully you're okay with that, it's gonna be even bigger once we get inside.”

Absently Lance nods. “So when will I learn of who’s playing?”

Grin growing larger Keith points his chin towards the side of the Coliseum and Lance follows with his eyes. A large poster of Madonna in her golden pointy bra with the words Blond Ambition World Tour printed below drapes down the side of the building. 

“You liked her songs from that MTV playlist right? Well apparently she puts on a pretty elaborate stage show.”

When Lance returns his gaze he’s frozen, gaping at Keith and at a complete loss for words. Even with all the noise and flurry of activity surrounding them, his motionless silence drags on until Keith starts to fidget, suddenly worried this might be too much given Lance’s reaction.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I just thought that you might… enjoy this?” His growing discomfort turns his statement into a question.

Slowly Lance begins to unthaw, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly before pressing shut and Keith is now about ninety percent sure this was a bad idea.

“You know what it’s fine, we can just do something else-”

“No.” Lance interjects, cutting him off. It’s a few seconds more before he seems to collect himself. “No, let’s do this.”

Keith gives him a look, silently asking if he’s sure. The fact that Lance snorts and answers his unspoken question surprises him. “Keith, I _want_ to do this.”

Just like that the smile is back on Keith’s face, in fact his cheeks are honestly starting to get sore from all the smiling he’s been doing today. This is not a normal expression for him.

“Okay but there’s one more thing,” he pauses, not sure if he’s just pushing his luck at this point.

“And that is?” Lance prompts.

“We’re gonna have to sneak in.” His smile turns dangerous, he can’t help it, the prospect is already starting to get his adrenaline pumping.

“Sneak in?” Lance’s eyebrows raise with his pitch. “And just how do you propose we do that?””

“C’mon, follow my lead.”

He begins walking towards the loading bay of the arena, where all the trucks and equipment are parked. Instructing Lance to act casual the two lean against the wall while Keith surveys the area, watching as crew members move about, hefting bags of equipment and disappearing inside. When Keith bends to pretend he’s tying a shoelace he gets a good look inside, noting the route the crew takes and the security surrounding it. His muscles flex in anticipation, it almost looks too easy.

Cautiously he stalks towards one of the trucks, careful not to be noticed. A pile of jackets are thrown over some speakers and he makes quick work rifling through them, even surprised when he finds several tags labelled CREW still stuck to the clothing. He pockets two and creeps back over to where Lance is standing, still looking completely disinterested in whatever’s been going on around him. Pride swells up in Keith, knowing with almost certainty that Lance can pull this off.

“Okay,” he says crowding into Lance so he can speak quietly. “The key is to act like you belong.” He fixes a tag to Lance’s shirt and then his own. “We’ll each grab a bag and go inside, if anyone stops you, just point to this tag. If anyone stops me, I want you to keep going.”

“But where would I find you?” Lance looks more than a little concerned at the suggestion that he leave Keith behind.

“Make your way into the crowd but stick to the walls. I’ll find you.”

Not looking like he particularly likes Keith’s answer, Lance presses his lips in a firm line. That he can be exasperated and charmed at the same time by Lance is another first for Keith but he tries to ignore it.

“Don’t worry Lance, we’ve got this.”

He even holds out a fist, waiting for the bump until he notices the curious tilt to Lance’s head. Chuckling he reaches his other hand for one of Lance’s, wrapping his fingers around, encouraging Lance to make his own fist.

“Like this,” he instructs when he bumps his fist against Lance’s.

Lance smiles in return, eyes glittering as they always do when he learns something new. Then he bumps his fist once more against Keith’s as he gives him a nod. Taking that as their cue Keith turns his attention back to the loading bay, waiting two seconds for the last crew member to disappear into the building before making their move. Confidently they stride over to a stack of equipment, each grabbing a bundle and then Keith is leading the way into the Coliseum.

The path towards the back of the stage is straightforward, well lit with bright walls and orange signs labelled ‘backstage’ pointing the way. They pass a few people as they move but no one gives them more than a perfunctory glance. Not until right at the end when they near the stage. A large, burly looking bodyguard eyes them with interest as they deposit their bags next to a similar looking pile. Keith straightens up and turns back to where they came, feeling the presence of Lance hot on his heels. When he thinks they’re out of sight he flashes out a hand, lightning quick, and pulls Lance down an adjacent hallway.

“Hey!” Shouts a deep, commanding voice, ringing from behind them, back the way they just came.

Eyes sparking into action Keith tells Lance to run, grabbing on to his wrist and pulling him further down the hall. He huffs along feeling his pulse pick up as his adrenaline spikes.

Lance is quick though and slides by Keith in no time, pulling his hand away with an excited laugh and running head first to god knows where. There’s lights flashing in the dark at the end of the hall and music starts to build the closer they get. Foot steps can be heard pounding the cement floor behind them but they’re too far away when they burst into a throng of people. 

The main stage and it's pulsing lights sits to their right, people on all sides surging towards it. Keith pushes against Lance’s back forcing their way into the crowd, Lance’s long limbed, pointy elbows perfect for clearing a path. Turning behind to catch a glimpse of their pursuers Keith sees nothing but bodies pressed on all sides against them. He goes up on his toes, trying to peer above the heads but still can't see anyone moving in their direction. It’s when he turns back to let Lance know they’ve made it that his stomach drops.

He can’t see him anywhere, not even a glimpse of smooth tan skin or olive green jacket. He continues to fight his way through the masses, much harder now that Lance isn’t there in front of him. His heart beats wildly in his chest and for a moment he thinks he might be timing, it’s nearly the same panic. But the lights around him dance in a way he knows they’re supposed to and the dizzying sickness doesn’t come. The thought has him flashing back to the moment before they’d timed here, back to when he’d felt Lance with him.

It’s a long shot but it’s better than being thrown around by the pit of people like he is now. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then another, willing his consciousness to search inward, to find that steady calm that could only be Lance. At first it’s just a faint trickle at the back of his mind, but the more he prods the larger it grows, until it’s taking over his mind and spreading down towards his chest. 

As it blooms he feels a tug on his awareness, telling him to turn around, leading him to where the feeling begins to simmer. He’s moving forward, eyes still closed but somehow the crowd seems to part for him. No longer being jostled around, instead he slips through like water, warm currents urging him on. His body continues to move forward, making it’s way without hesitation until his steps falter to a stop.

He opens his eyes to find Lance, up against the metal barrier separating the bowl seating from the floor. He’s on his tiptoes, head whipping back and forth with a desperate look in his eyes. It punches Keith in the gut, he’s never seen Lance look so lost before. Never so uncertain. He’s running forward before he even knows it, almost barreling into the side of Lance, when he skids to a halt.

“Lance!” he exclaims, breathless.

“Keith!”

Without warning Lance wraps his arms around him tight, pulling him up off the floor. Keith gives a surprised yelp before clutching his arms around Lance’s waist to keep his balance. The last thing they need is to break something from toppling over. When his feet hit the ground he tries to pull away but Lance is firmly sticking to him.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head up to speak into Lance’s ear. He places a hand lightly on Lance’s elbow. “Hey it’s alright, I’m right here.”

A shaky exhale blows his hair that tickles the side of his face and Lance squeezes a little harder. Hesitantly Keith pats his elbow, trying to pull back once more, needing to get some air into his lungs. This time Lance lets him. He doesn’t go far though, one arm hanging loosely off Lance’s hip, both of Lance’s hands cupping his shoulders.

Lance beams at him, his eyes going soft. “You found me.”

“I told you I would,” Keith responds with his own small smile.

Lance hums, eyes still trained fixedly on Keith's. “Just don’t do that again.”

He squeezes Keith’s shoulders in emphasis who barely suppresses a shudder at the strength in those hands.

“What? We got in didn’t we?”

Keith steps back, instantly missing the contact but he doesn’t want to take this experience away from Lance. Lance moves toward him, arms still outstretched like he’s about to pull Keith in again when the lights of the arena shut off - and when had they even turned on? - and the whole place erupts in screaming.

Low lights flash on the stage as slow background music begins to play. Beside him Lance’s eyes pop open as he takes in the sight before him. The lights begin to brighten, revealing an elaborate set of industrial barrels, rotating gears and metal steps, imitating the inside of a factory. Shirtless male dancers begin to stalk across the stage amidst the sounds of clanking machinery and hissing pistons. Keith watches Lance closely for his reaction, pleased to see only dazzling amazement.

Then the music really begins to play and the dancers break into well rehearsed choreography, the crowd around them pushing forward again. This time Keith grabs tightly onto Lance’s hand who turns to him with a silent, “wow,” then drags him bodily into the throng. He's only pulled a few paces behind when Lance stops, tugging to bring them side by side, full view of the stage as an open elevator rises up to the raised platform. Madonna herself steps out looking immaculate in a fitted black suit jacket with wide legged pants, the whole scene a recreation of the video for “Express Yourself” that they’d watched together only a few nights before. Around them people are yelling and cheering and when she asks the crowd if they believe in love they all shout with her, “cause I've got something to say about it.”

Keith peeks at Lance again and sees the largest, cheesiest grin he's ever seen. His wide, astounded eyes are practically dancing in the lights, so totally absorbed in the glitz of the show. Heat from his palm begins to spread all the way up to Keith's ears when he realizes they're still holding hands and he can't help but rub his thumb along the back of Lance’s hand, giddiness fluttering in his chest to see Lance so enthralled. Lance doesn't look his way but his fingers gently squeeze against Keith’s increasing the catch of his heart. 

It’s when Madonna rips off her jacket, revealing the lingerie underneath that Lance’s shocked and scandalized face turns toward him. “Oh my! S-she's just prancing around… in her underwear?”

“Yeah, I think that was kind of her thing,” he shouts back at him, shrugging his shoulders.

“But it’s indecent!”

Raising his brows Keith takes in Lance’s flustered state. His shocked wide eyes and flushed cheeks. It's cute.

“Trust me it gets worse,” he smirks.

Lance’s eyebrows raise so high he can barely see them under his bangs. He looks like he has more to say on the subject when his eyes fall back to the show. Up on stage Madonna and her dancers grind against the workmen.

Slowly a sly smile creeps across Lance’s lips as his shock begins to wear off. With eyebrows already waggling he looks at Keith again. “Then I suppose she's my kind of woman.”

It's so exaggerated and overtop that Keith's already snorting in laughter before he can stop himself. As he tries to reign himself in Lance’s smile melts into something softer, pleased with the fact that he made Keith laugh.

Keith smiles back, those cheeks hurting once again at how nice it feels to see Lance enjoying himself so much. He's just about to say something to that effect when a person in the crowd crashes harshly into his side knocking him forward and wrenching his hand from Lance’s. Scowling in the direction of his assailant he's just about to go after them when Lance lands both hands on his shoulders, pulling him back.

“Come now Keith. We're here to see the show, not start a fight.”

Keith turns his scowl towards Lance. “But-”

“Ah bip, bip, bip,” Lance interrupts, hands rising from Keith’s shoulders to forcefully turn his head towards the stage. “No fighting, just watching.”

Keith wants to say something more but finds himself short circuiting when Lance gives him a fond pat on his head, slowly trailing his fingers down the length of Keith's spine as his hand falls away, a slight shiver following in its wake. He wants to be indignant about how easily he’s been disarmed but all he feels is hot and shaky.

Too stunned to do anything else they stand together and watch the show, though Keith's attention is mostly on Lance. On the way he taps his foot and nods along. On the way his eyebrows still raise in appreciative shock every time Madonna grabs her crotch or gets overly sexual, which is admittedly a lot.

But the thing that messes with him the most is the way Lance looks completely at home in the sea of concert goers. Keith would be lying if he said it didn't give him a thrill seeing how easily Lance blends with the crowd, looking as though he belongs here, right now with him.

It's about halfway through the show, Madonna’s standing between some male dancers dressed as Mermaids - or is it Mermen? - tails and all when Keith notices Lance’s attention has been diverted elsewhere. Following his gaze he sees two men a little ways away from them. They're wrapped up in each other, laughing and moving together, singing the chorus of “Cherish” to one another, foreheads pressed together whenever they're not stealing kisses. It's seriously the cutest fucking thing Keith’s seen in a long time, the sort of PDA that would have him rolling his eyes in disdain if it wasn't for the fact that there may or may not be a certain someone in his general vicinity he maybe wouldn't mind doing something like that with. He wants to be disgusted with himself. He should be.

Yet he's too intent on the reaction Lance is giving. So many emotions flickering across his face that he can't catch them all. His eyes are almost as wide as they were when Madonna first took to the stage but his expression is… shocked, maybe? But there's something else there that he's not understanding. The more Lance watches the couple nearby the more his lips press into a thin line, his eyes narrowing a bit, like he's trying to figure something out and he's not pleased with the outcome. It unsettles Keith enough that he tries to step in, apprehension twisting his stomach when he leans up to ask Lance if everything's okay.

Jerking at the sound of his voice Lance turns quickly to Keith, looking as though he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Pardon?”

Keith frowns. “I said, are you okay?”

“Oh, y-yeah fine. Of course.” He's fidgeting with his jacket, pulling down on the ends to straighten it. He won't meet Keith’s eyes.

“You sure?” Keith tilts his head at Lance, tiny alarms going off, a sickening sort of drop threatening to turn his stomach.

Lance slowly exhales, his shoulders drooping. “Yes,” finally looking up at him with a tight smile in place. “I think the excitement of the day might be catching up with me is all.”

Squinting, Keith scrutinizes his expression, searching his eyes for any sort of hint towards his true feelings. Lance lets out a nervous sort of laugh, bumping his shoulder lightly into Keith's and turning back to the stage, Madonna now moved on to “Get Into the Groove.” Not sure what else to do Keith turns back as well, trying to settle his unease. It really _has_ been a long day. The realization sends a weary ache through Keith’s body.

Almost as if on cue his head starts to spin, the bodies around them blurring in horizontal lines with dizzying speed. Hands dig into his shoulders, bringing him back to himself, holding him upright while his knees threaten to buckle.

“Keith,” Lance says, bending to place his face right in front of his own.

Blue eyes swim into focus, the only thing standing still around them. They look concerned, and maybe a little intense, but not frightened. Not like the way Keith normally feels before he's thrown through time.

Keith latches onto that thought, reaching out to place his own hands on Lance’s shoulders, bracing against the oncoming pull. But it's not a violent yank. Not a hard shove towards the void but a gentle persistence. In front of him Lance gasps, eyes widening as he feels the difference for himself. Keith stares, intent on the man in front of him, watching as he starts to fade, noticing how his own arms dissolve as well. It's calm and almost peaceful, an inevitability instead of a powerful force. This time he doesn't fight it, doesn't thrash against the winds or cringe inside of himself. Warm hands against him and the solid body in front keep him anchored, keep him from falling apart.

When the light surrounds him he feels that connection with Lance spark, growing hot and blinding, blurring the men together. An image of a large Victorian house with wrap around porch enters his mind unprovoked. The open space and searing heat of New Orleans sinking into his skin. The idea is so raw, so sudden that he flinches away from it, dreading to go there. It's too soon he tells himself, he's not ready. This can't be it. Instead he forces himself to think of home. His red car and tiny apartment. A tall honey skinned man standing in his kitchen making coffee. 

Tingling with something close to yearning the light begins to fade, replaced by large shelves and linoleum flooring, fluorescent lights hanging overhead once more. Keith blinks, Lance concrete and radiating heat before him, blue eyes still concerned and still not frightened. Pins and needles recede from their limbs, shaking the last bit of timing away. They're back in the grocery store down the street from his place, a couple boxes of mac and cheese littering the ground.

His eyes flash to Lance’s as the man in question registers their surroundings, a moment of shock showing on his face and maybe…

“We’re back.” Lance breathes, staring around them.

“Yeah.”

Keith's heart rate picks up. How much of that did Lance feel? Did he see his own house? Did he notice the way Keith selfishly brought them here instead?

“That was…” Lance seems to be at a loss for words, Keith holding his breath and hanging off the ones he does speak. A panic that has nothing to do with timing rises once again. But as he watches he sees the slow grin that cracks across Lance’s face. “That was unbelievable.”

It has Keith melting, the tenseness of his shoulders loosening. A small smile of his own breaks free. “It was pretty fun,” he admits.

Lance's grin widens, crinkling his eyes and filling the world around them with light.

“Thank you Lance.”

A light pink blooms on Lance’s cheeks as he ducks his head, suddenly finding the floor at their feet very interesting. “It is I who should be thanking you,” he mumbles, the shyness of his voice surprising Keith.

A large yawn escapes from Keith, a sigh and a groan of weariness all in one. The movement catches Lance’s attention. He hums. “I too feel the same. This day has been long indeed.”

Another, smaller yawn, an aftershock of the first answers for Keith. “Yeah.”

“Shall we…” Lance hesitates, a timid, questioning look on his face, “head home?”

A smile, probably the largest one of the night, lifts Keith's cheeks, obscuring half his vision.

“Yeah,” he says again, wondering if he’s imagining the look of relief from Lance. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Keith returns from the gym feeling calmer and more comfortable than he has in a long time. Despite the exhaustion that had him falling asleep before his head hit the pillow the night before his body still woke up earlier than he would've liked. Feeling restless with an unnamed anxiety he'd quietly snuck past Lance's peacefully sleeping pile of blankets in the living room, deciding to do something productive with his anxious energy.

As he steps through the door he can't ignore the way his apartment has felt more and more like home since Lance got here. That tranquil sense of belonging he was so terrified of snuck up on him with the presence of his sudden roommate. The sound of the shower running and the quiet humming of said roommate sends a warm and pleasant feeling through him. He toes off his shoes and pauses at the bathroom door a moment, hoping to pick out what song Lance is singing. Maybe one from last night?

The tune is too pitchy and broken for him to figure out. He presses his ear to the door for a better listen when a sudden low, breathy groan reaches him. In a flash he jerks his head back. Is Lance?

His body flushes heatedly at the thought. Leaning back to the door before he can stop himself he hears it again.

Small gasps curl underneath the door and wrap themselves tight around his gut. He realizes belatedly that this is wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be listening. He's just about to push away when the groaning gets louder and a shuddering, “ahhh,” comes through. It just might be the hottest thing he's ever heard.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes and finds his hand palming the rapidly growing length in his shorts without his permission.

The noises get louder. The ‘ah’s’ and ‘mmm’s’ assaulting his mind are calling up an image of Lance, naked under the hot spray of the shower. His dark, tan body glistening under the water that's running down the smooth planes of his torso. Water drops dewing in his eyelashes and falling onto his full pink lips, probably open and gasping while he touches himself. 

Keith slips a hand under his waistband and convulses as his fingers wrap around and squeeze his dick. Lance’s moaning is getting louder still and Keith imagines him biting his lip in an effort to stay quiet, shuddering under the water as he gets closer. Keith is embarrassingly close already, but the noises Lance makes are unbelievably wanton. He yearns painfully to see the beautiful bronzed man in his shower touch himself. He slaps his free hand over his mouth just as a soft whimper escapes.

“K-k-ke…,” the breathy half word reaches his ears and Keith's eyes fly open as all the blood in his body rushes downward. Did Lance just... call _his_ name? He's wrapped up in his fantasy, brain so filled with hopeless desire that he can't be sure but it doesn't matter because in his mind it's already happening. He can see Lance pumping harder, eyes squeezing shut and lips moving as he moans Keith’s name again and again.

The sounds through the door are downright obscene by now and Keith is a mess, leaning heavily against the wooden barrier, hand shoved down his pants and working himself mercilessly. His knees are buckling and even the hand clamped around his mouth can't stop his shameless moans from escaping.

The cry of Lance’s orgasm echoes around the tiled walls of the bathroom, an image of Lance’s throbbing dick splashing come against the shower door has Keith biting his hand and coming so hard his body jerks and his knees drop to the floor. He gasps against the hardwood as his hand slowly strokes him through, sweaty bangs clinging to his face. He pictures Lance’s face blissed out and gorgeous as the rushing water washes him clean, panting a last quiet, “Keith,” as he comes down.

Then all at once he comes back to himself. On his knees, hunched over and kneeling outside the bathroom door. Sticky jizz all over his hand and the inside of his sweaty gym shorts from masturbating to the sounds of Lance doing the same. 

_Lance_. Oh god, he'll probably be finished any minute. 

Keith springs from the floor and rushes to the bedroom, grabbing a pair of sweats from the hamper before turning back to the front door and flinging himself through, the shower still running as he makes his escape.

It's not until he hits the stairs that he stops for a moment to catch his breath. Legs weak, heart pounding in his chest and he can't believe that just fucking happened. 

_Holy Shit!_

He runs a hand through his hair - his clean hand in case you’re wondering - and tries to push the image of Lance from his mind. He wants to feel ashamed but _god_ that was so hot.

He's not sure how long he stays there in that stairwell. Long enough to wipe of his hand, throw sweatpants over cold legs and become unbearably uncomfortable with the mess in his shorts. But what does he do now? If he's gone too long Lance might get suspicious. Or even worse, _worried._ Hovering uncertainly a moment longer he finally decides to head back to the apartment, crossing his fingers and hoping for the best.

“Hey, I'm back from the gym,” he calls in what he hopes sounds nonchalant as he enters the apartment.

Making a beeline for the bathroom he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the door open but stops dead a moment later as Lance steps out, upper body bare and a towel wrapped around his waist. Keith swallows hard as he realizes his imagination did not do this man justice. His eyes sweep over the broad shoulders, wide chest and tight rippling abs sheathed in flawlessly smooth caramel skin. He swallows hard.

“Oh - ah - hello,” Lance stammers, clearly embarrassed.

Keith stares a moment too long before speaking again. “Are you, um, finished?”

“Pardon?” Lance squeaks, cheeks turning red.

Keith suppressed the urge to giggle. “In the bathroom.”

“Oh, yes. It's all yours.”

Lance steps to the side so Keith can pass, neither one daring to make eye contact, but the shiver that runs through Keith as their arms brush together must have been noticeable. Once inside he finds himself again pressed tight to the bathroom door, this time on the other side, heart in his throat and face flushed. Holy shit, he thinks, passing his eyes over the shower and shuddering. How much longer can this go on?

 

* * *

 

“And then you returned to the store as if no time had passed at all?”

They're back at Altea, nestled into those comfy seats that sit across from Coran’s desk. The man's eyes have been sparkling in interest through the entirety of their story, his hands quickly jotting notes into the file laid out in front of him.

The late afternoon sun shines through the windows, already dangerously close to dipping below the buildings spread out before them. After taking a long and much needed cold shower neither Keith nor Lance had been entirely comfortable around each other for long. Though their appointment with Coran was not until later Keith had suggested they leave early to tour the grounds around Altea. In the dead of winter the gardens really weren't all that impressive but the fresh air and chance to stretch their legs seemed to help dissipate some of the hesitancy between them.

“Pretty much,” Keith confirms.

Lance has been sitting uncharacteristically quiet for most of the visit. But from the many times Keith's glanced his way to check in he doesn't seem to be upset or worried, just thoughtful. Not for the first time Keith wonders what could be on his mind.

“Hmmm, from the way you describe timing back to the present I wager you felt somewhat in control?”

“A-ah,” Keith stammers, averting his gaze from the other men in the room. Just how much should he admit to? “A little, maybe.”

Coran seems to level him with a knowing stare. Keith swallows and looks away, attempting to hide behind his bangs.

After a few more ticks Coran speaks up. “Yes well, I too have some interesting news from the testing done on you both last week.”

Beside him Lance visibly perks up, sitting a little straighter in his chair and scooting forward. “Tell me, why do you think this is happening?” He asks, his posture betraying the casual flow of his words.

“Well the results from your genetic testing are still not in, however it was the psychological tests that were most enlightening.” Coran twists the corners of his orange moustache absently.

Lance is perched on the edge of his chair, desperate for more. Keith on the other hand curls inwardly, already nervous about what Coran has to say. Like last time hadn't been bad enough.

“Just as I’d suspected it would appear the link between the two of you is much more emotional than circumstantial.”

From the corner of his eye Keith can see Lance visibly balk. He holds his breath, certain that it can only get worse from here. If Lance only knew.

Coran continues. “When asked about each other it was the middle of the brain, specifically the limbic system that lit up the most.”

From what Keith can remember of biology he cringes further, sending pleading eyes to Coran. The gesture goes unnoticed.

“The amygdala, processing centre for emotions such as fear, love and, ah,” he clears his throat. “Sexual desire, was particularly active in both of you.”

If Keith could chose when he dies it would be now. His fingers are shaking in embarrassment as he tries to cover his face, cheeks no doubt rivalling the flaming colour that's also present upon Lance's. But Lance looks as though he's going to explode. His back is ramrod straight, the tension in his body pulled so tight Keith can almost see the lines of him blurring in rapid vibration. He makes a choking, spluttering sound, somewhere between a squeal and a dying animal. Keith can relate but chooses instead to curl further in on himself, trying to imitate the shape of a ball.

Finally seeming to take in the distress of the two men in front of him Coran is quick to backtrack. “It could mean a number of things, strong emotions of any kind would have similar readings. But I think for now it might be best if I discussed these results with each of you individually.”

Taking the mortified silence filling the room as confirmation Coran presses a button on the phone of his desk. “Florona, can you please come and escort Mr McClain to the testing centre?”

“Of course Dr Smythe,” a feminine voice replies through the intercom.

Lance's wide eyes snap up in Corans direction at the mention of his name. A bit of panic showing through his discomfort.

“It's nothing like last time,” Coran assures. “Just some general testing to make sure you're alright after that last time.”

Almost reluctantly Keith looks in their direction, eyes falling once again on Lance's clearly shaken form. They share the briefest of eye contact, his heart constricting painfully before they both turn away, twin blushes spreading almost to the tips of their ears.

The knock on the door startles them both, Lance rising swiftly to his feet just as a woman, presumably Florona, walks in. Her hair’s pulled tight into a bun, wire framed glasses perched on her face and a short white lab coat covering her clothes. She smiles benignly at the men in the room, motioning for Lance to follow behind her.

“Excellent, Lance once you’re finished you and I will have a chance to discuss things in private. For now I would like to do the same with Keith.”

Lance nods once to Coran not even looking at Keith before leaving the room, awkward tension still holding his broad shoulders tight.

Slowly Keith exhales, releasing some of his own tension. He leans his head back against the chair, revelling in the brief reprieve in conversation. He knows what Coran’s going to say, it’s obvious he already has some idea as to how Keith feels. But how exactly does Keith feel? A week ago it’d only been attraction but now…

A rustling in the chair beside him opens his eyes, defensive and guarded. Coran now sits in Lance’s vacated spot, powering through Keith's prickly demeanour as though he hasn’t noticed, just like he always does.

“Keith we’ve known each other for many years haven’t we?”

Apprehensively he nods.

“And in all that time I’ve never seen readings such as these from you.” His dark eyes bore into Keith, the certainty in them mirroring the tone of his voice. “It’s obvious that the two of you are connected but at this type of magnitude?... I think I would be hard pressed to find another pairing quite this profound.”

The weight of Coran’s words settle over him, heavy and obtrusive. His mind stalls at the implication.

“No, it’s not like that.” Cold sweat breaks out across his skin, his eyes dart around the room. “We - we hardly know each other - it can’t be - “

“Keith.” Coran cuts into his frenzied rambling. “I can say with certainty that the data does not lie.”

“B-but you said that it could be any type of emotion, m-m-maybe I’m just scared or… or…” His mind is coming up blank, the lightness in his head stopping coherent thoughts in their tracks.

“Keith.” This time Coran’s words are gentle yet his eyes still piercing. “I’m sure to a certain degree you are frightened, but I’m afraid that’s not it, though perhaps it should be.”

He makes a choking, confused noise, unable to even speak.

Coran sighs, lips pressed tight for a moment as he considers his next words. Keith is still minutes behind, reeling from what’s already been said. When Coran finally speaks it’s not at all what he was expecting.

“I’ve always wanted this for you, you know.” A sad look passes over Coran’s face while Keith is just… stunned. “You’ve been alone since your mother passed and though most of it is your own doing I had always hoped that someone would find a way past your armour. But this…” He waves a hand towards the file still sitting on his desk. “This is dangerous.”

The look on his face must really be something because it has Coran leaning towards him, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Lance is not from here, he will most likely have to go home eventually and what will happen when he does?”

Keith’s mouth drops open, eyes widening as he uses all his strength not to let them glisten and pool the way they want to. Coran squeezes his shoulder a little tighter, acting as if they had all the same.

“This type of attachment will be hard to get over and you’ve been through so much already. I worry about what might happen to you.”

Dropping his gaze to the floor Keith hunches forward, willing the painful way his heart’s seized up to let go. But it doesn’t, it squeezes and contracts until his shoulders shake with the effort to breathe, the shame of being this upset already too much to bear.

“I’m sorry my boy, but my advice as not only your doctor but as your friend is to please be careful. It’s too early to say how long Lance can remain here.”

A tiny voice breathes out, thoughts catching on Coran’s last words. “You… you think he might be able to stay?” He tries to squash the hopeful butterflies fighting for attention.

Coran’s lips press firm once more, fuzzy red eyebrows furrowing. “There could be a chance, though it would be very slim.”

Releasing a shaky breath Keith tries to straighten in his seat. Everything Coran’s said he’s already known. He’s been trying to tell himself as much since the day Lance first timed back with him. But he’d gotten careless and allowed himself to get caught up. In the feeling, in the adventure, in _Lance_. It has to end sometime, he’s always known that it would.

“Please,” he lifts his eyes to Coran, self preservation finally taking root in him. “Don’t say anything to Lance. He can’t know that I -”

Coran’s raised hand interrupts his speech, that knowing look back in his eyes. “You don’t need to worry. Hippocratic oath aside, I wouldn't spill your secret to Lance. Although…” he pauses again, eyeing Keith once more. “I don’t think you have anything to fear in that regard.”

Not sure how to respond Keith can only scrunch and lift his eyebrows in ignorance. Coran chuckles before continuing, this time more to himself than Keith. “I think that man is just as oblivious as you are.”

“What -”

“Well,” Coran cuts in, slapping his hand against the arm of his chair and pushing up to his feet. “That is all I wanted to discuss with you. You’ll need to have the standard tests done before you leave and I believe Pidge has something she’s been wanting to show you in the robotics lab. I’ll send Lance that way once we’re finished.”

“But Coran -”

“No buts.”

He’s pulled up to his feet and ushered towards the door by the surprisingly strong doctor. Keith tries to dig his heels in, needing to understand what Coran meant by that last statement. What are they oblivious to?

“Very busy you know, lots to do.”

He’s unceremoniously shoved out the door, even stumbling a few times over his own feet before he can throw his arms out and catch his balance. Whirling in shock at the bizarre treatment Coran sends him a wink and a sly smile before promptly shutting the door with a finalizing click. 

Okay well that was… weird. Yet also very Coran. Sighing to himself he begins to move down the wide hallway, the lights overhead making him feel exposed and ashamed. What had he been _thinking_? It had been completely stupid not to think this mess with Lance through. Now here he was, actively fantasizing about him and crossing serious personal boundaries. And what now? What had he even wanted to happen?

Silently he makes his way towards Pidge, distantly wondering what she could want to show him. In any case he's thankful to have at least have the distraction.

When he gets to the lab he's surprised to see a familiar tuft of white hair peeking out from behind the large and imposing body of Shiro. He's bent over a workbench, leaning on his elbows as Pidge stands across the way fiddling with something in the space between them. She notices his arrival just as he pushes through the door.

“Hey Keith!” She calls waving him over their way. By the extra bounce and the almost wild look in her eyes he can tell she must be working on something very important to her. “Hurry up.”

Snorting in amusement he picks up the pace, sliding up next to Shiro with a nod. “Hey.”

“Keith,” Shiro smiles, obligatory shoulder grab already in motion. “Where’s Lance?”

“Oh... ah, testing, I think.” Just the mention of Lance’s name has him floundering again. He can feel the heat radiating off his face and cringes a little, hoping against hope that it goes unnoticed.

“Youuu think?” 

And yeah the confusion in Shiro’s voice clearly indicates he knows something’s up.

“Yeah or maybe back in Coran’s office…,” he peters out. He should probably just stop talking altogether before this gets any _more_ awkward.

He can't even meet Shiro’s eyes, instead raising them slowly to Pidge who’s looking at him with a puzzled expression. Up close he can see the bags under her eyes and the sallowness of her skin, the sight shocking enough to shake off his embarrassment.

“Jesus Pidge when's the last time you slept?”

Her face scrunches up at that, a flippant hand flies through the air. “Pfft.”

Keith’s concern grows. “Have you even gone home lately?”

“Look I’ve already been lectured by Shiro okay,” she rolls her eyes. “Besides you can’t honestly expect me to sleep when I’ve been so close to completing _this_.” Her hands fan out over the workbench, revealing a complicated looking gadget.

Keith glances at Shiro, hoping for some sort of explanation for what’s been going on with Pidge, but all he does is sigh, hand dropping away from Keith’s shoulder as he ruefully shakes his head. 

Looking back, he takes in the metal device on the table. It’s large and triangular, taking up most of the space between them. There’s a screen on each side, three in total, each displaying a different reading or measurement, knobs and dials sitting below. In what he assumes to be the front, where the corners of three sides meet, is another small triangle omitting a pulsing blue light. Though he really doesn’t know much about the robotics lab it’s obvious that this pyramid has been Pidge’s project alone. The unconventional shape yet sleek design reminiscent of early devices she used to build when they were teenagers.

“So… what is it?” Keith asks, eyes still glued to the strange device.

“I call him R.O.V.E.R.,” she beams, arms crossed proudly across her chest.

His eyebrows raise. “Rover?”

“He’s a range operative verification and extraction rerouter.” She’s looking at him expectantly, exasperation creeping through the longer he stares blankly at her. Soon she’s rolling her eyes again. Beside him Shiro snorts quietly.

“His primary function is to locate a timer, wherever they are, and bring them home.”

He remains blank a few moments longer as her words slowly begin to sink in. Wherever they are? Does that mean?

“You figured out how to pull back a timer?” He’s completely shocked, still trying to figure it out himself, the concept so far from anything he ever thought could be possible in his lifetime.

If there was a way to find where in time a timer was and then bring them back it could change lives. It could _save lives_. How many times when he was 5-years-old and stuck in a strange place did he wish he was home with his mom? How many times had he found himself in trouble and needed help? If this had been around two years ago than maybe he never would have found himself in that frozen hell.

“Now he gets it,” Pidge says, proud and smug. He’s pulled from his rumination to see her smirking at him, hazel eyes glinting with the excitement she’d displayed when he first entered the lab.

Wide eyed he turns his attention to Shiro suddenly desperate to know what another timer thinks of this. He’s looking thoughtfully down at Rover, fingers drumming against the table top, white forelock hanging in front of his eyes. When he brings them up there’s a fond smile in place that he directs first to Pidge and then to Keith.

“It’s pretty incredible, right?”

“Incredible? It’s… monumental. Pidge does Rover really work?”

“In theory, yes. He’s ready to be field tested and that’s where I need you two.” Just like that she’s back into research mode, taking out her notepad. “I need samples from both of you. I’ll need your biorhythms, your precise biophoton levels, EEG signals and of course a DNA sample.”

Absently she taps her pen on the edge of the paper while she stares off, contemplating. “That should be enough data to program Rover so he can lock on to your unique signatures. Finding you should be no problem, it’s the bringing you back part I’m not so sure about yet.”

Shiro and Keith share a look. “Ah… just how unsure are you?”

As much as he trusts Pidge when it comes to these types of things Keith really doesn’t want to be the one to find out what happens when Rover fails at pulling him back through time. He shivers at the possibilities.

“Oh don’t be such a baby,” Pidge scolds, sending him one of her most intimidating, no bullshit type looks. Another shiver passes over him.

Shiro, always the calm and well spoken one, steps in to reason. “It’s not that we don’t have faith in you Pidge, but I’m sure you can see why we might be a little concerned with your lack of confidence.”

His magic seems to work because Pidge backs off, turning her imposing glare into more of a peevish look. “I know. I wouldn’t try anything until I was _at least_ 95 percent sure anyway.”

Keith balks at 95 percent, he wants to say something but he definitely knows better.

“Once I’ve collected your samples I’ll know how to calibrate Rover properly.”

He looks at Shiro again, searching for confirmation that he's not the only one more than a little apprehensive about this. What he gets is a shrug and a little self deprecating smile.

“What do we have to lose?”

It makes Keith snort, ignoring the way Lance flashed through his mind for just a second.

“What about Lance?” Shiro, apparently, is also a mind reader.

“What about him?” Pidge asks, tilting her head.

“If he's being pulled along with Keith’s timing would this device work on him as well?”

Pidge thinks for a minute, chewing on the end of her pen while in thought. “I suppose theoretically it could, but maybe I should get samples from him as well.”

“Samples from whom?”

The sudden voice that booms from somewhere behind him makes Keith jump. Whipping around he finds Lance walking towards them, looking in their direction with brows raised in question towards Pidge.

“You, actually,” Shiro replies, reaching out to shake hands with Lance who seems absolutely thrilled by the gesture. “It's good to see you again Lance. How's the air mattress working out?”

“Well I dare say it's much preferred over the couch.” Lance smirks. “Thank you.”

He's teasing but Keith doesn't miss the way Lance won't make eye contact. He even settles himself on the other side of Shiro, using him as a buffer between them. Something in Keith’s chest drops.

“Lance would you be willing to provide some samples for Rover?” Pidge interjects, cutting right to the point with not so much as a hello.

Obviously confused Lance stares blankly at Pidge, mouth hanging open a little. “I'm sorry? Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Lance meet Rover. Rover, Lance,” she replies with a wave of her hand between the two.

“Uh -”

“Rover here is a device Pidge has been working on,” Shiro supplies. “He's designed to find where a person is when timing and bring them home. I was just asking Pidge if he would also bring you back if it were used on Keith.”

Pidge speaks up once more. “To be safe I’d like to get some samples from you, I should be able to program Rover to search for you and Keith, in fact it might even be easier with both of your signatures.”

“This thing here can do that?” The awe in his voice is unmistakable.

“Apparently, yes,” Shiro answers.

Lance looks between Pidge and Rover repeatedly, enough times that it has Shiro’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“Can I… touch it?” Lance asks.

Surprised Pidge allows herself to settle into another smug little smirk before nodding her head. Slowly Lance reaches out his fingers, gently tracing along the edges of the pyramid, pausing to run over a monitor. It's tender and mesmerizing, Keith unable to take his eyes away from the movement. Those slender, delicate fingers, graceful and reverent and-

He tears his eyes away, focusing on the wall behind Rover. Breathing deeply through his nose to calm his throbbing heart. Keep it together.

“Do you think it could send me home?”

The question has Keith snapping his eyes back to Lance, his heart not able to slow down because now it's crashing against his rib cage, harder than before. Does Lance _want_ to go home now?

No one seems to notice his internal panic, all eyes on Pidge as they await an answer.

“I might be able to do that.” She considers. “I’d have to reverse the signal, find a way to initiate timing for you without Keith…” She picks up her notepad, furiously writing notes in the margins while continuing to mumble to herself.

“Whoa, Pidge,” he has to clear his throat, it's been a while since he last spoke up. “Before you get too deep in that you _have_ to take a break.”

Looking like she's about to argue, Shiro chimes in. “He's right Pidge, you're no good to any of us if you die of neglect and exhaustion.”

She scoffs. “That's a little extreme.”

“Is it?” Keith asks, levelling her with a deadpan stare.

Obstinately she folds her arms, staring both him and Shiro down.

“What about a dinner party?” Lance suggests, throwing it into the standoff. The three of them start.

“Dinner party?” Pidge asks.

“Hunk has extended an invitation of dinner to Keith and myself, however he suggested we invite some acquaintances. Perhaps we can all go?” He's looking between the three of them, unsure of whether this is something he should have brought up at all. Still he doesn't meet Keith's eyes.

“Who’s Hunk?” Shiro asks, turning to Keith.

“He's, um, a friend…” Why does he feel weird saying that? “From work.”

“But you don't have friends.” 

It would be rude if it came from anyone other than Pidge. But she's known him long enough to call him out, and besides, it’s pretty much the truth.

Lance isn't as easily swayed. “Nonsense. Hunk is a lovely, agreeable person who gets along with Keith just fine. We could attempt to arrange for dinner tomorrow, that way you may meet Keith's friend and take a break from your work.”

Pidge is looking entirely unconvinced, her arms still crossed and a scowl on her face. Deciding on a different tactic Lance looks to Shiro for help.

“Takashi Shirogane is a Japanese name, correct?”

“Yes, it is,” blinks Shiro, managing to look both surprised and impressed. “Why do you ask?”

“I believe Hunk will be making a traditional Japanese cuisine called su-shi.” The word rolls awkwardly off his tongue but it still has Pidge perking right the fuck up.

“I love Sushi! I’ve never had homemade sushi before, would it be any good?”

“I’ve been assured that Hunk is an excellent cook.”

“Homemade sushi does sound delicious,” Shiro nods, patting his stomach absently and turning to Keith for confirmation. 

“What do you think?”

Keith looks between his friends, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s been dreading this since he’d first foolishly agreed to this dinner fiasco. But at least now it wouldn’t be just Lance and him. Shiro and Pidge would be there too, hopefully distracting enough to help Keith forget all about Lance, with his easy charm and tempting smile, soft blue eyes... He shakes the thoughts from his head. _And_ Pidge really could use the break. He chews his lip for a second more before deciding.

“Fine let’s do it. I’ll text him and see if he’s free.”

He glances at Pidge and Shiro, receiving affirmative smiles from both of them. When he looks at Lance his eyes are back on Rover, fingers flexing out to touch once more.

Picking up his phone he begins to type.

**Outgoing text: Manager**

_Hey Hunk you free to do dinner tomorrow?_

He only has to wait a few seconds before the conversation dots show up.

**Ya cmon over**

_Lance invited a couple more friends_  
_That ok?_

**Ofc**  
**Just working atm I'll send my deets l8r**

_Okay thanks_

When he looks back up all eyes are on him, even Lance’s.

“Hunk says tomorrow is good.”

“Excellent, then it’s settled.” Lance claps his hands, the smile that he’s been missing since Coran’s office just peeking through. At any rate he looks supremely pleased with himself.

“It sounds like fun,” Shiro agrees to which Pidge snorts a little, causing him to give her his sternest dad look. “No backing out last minute, Pidge.”

“What?” She actually has the nerve to look offended. “I wouldn’t…” Another stern glare from Shiro has her faltering. “Alright fine.”

Keith chuckles to himself. 

“What're you laughing at Kogane?” Pidge snaps.

Rather than answer he hums to himself, smirking in her direction. With a huff she turns back to the notepad, scribbling down a few more notes in barely legible handwriting.

“Well I should get going. Someone’s demanding samples from me.” He rolls his eyes in Pidges direction.

“Make sure you tell them what I need,” she demands.

“I will.”

He searches out Lance, surprised to find that he’s still looking his way. _Still_ avoiding eye contact but at this point that’s probably for the best. “Should we… just… uh, meet downstairs… when we’re done.”

Even Lance winces at how awkward that was, looking away again before answering. “Yes, I still have to meet with Coran.”

Keith waits a second, expecting a look, or a smile, or at least some other sign of acknowledgement. There’s a beat of silence where Shiro and Pidge stare at the two suddenly uncomfortable men before Keith is retreating as quick as he can. Head hung low and praying that he doesn’t hear about it from either of them at dinner tomorrow.

He wonders again why he ever agreed to this.

 


	5. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some homophobic remarks near the end, just wanted to warn you.

Relief. He _never_ thought he’d get to this point but Keith can now say without a doubt that he’s actually looking forward to dinner at Hunk’s. To say that the last day with Lance has been awkward would be an understatement. Since their conversation with Coran things between them have come to a stilted, grinding halt. Gone is their easy way around each other, that friendly, open atmosphere now turned painfully self aware. Keith finds himself second guessing every look, every word. Catching himself from the casual touches they used to share that he hadn’t even realized became routine. Even now as they wait for the door to open he notices how far Lance is, their arms not even brushing together like they would have before. Though he’s not even an arms length away he feels entirely out of reach.

They’re standing outside the door to Hunk’s apartment, or at least that’s what his text says. Turns out he’s only been ten blocks from Keith’s place this whole time, his building even looking eerily similar to Keith’s. Towering and boxy, the exterior is a lifeless grey concrete with small windows that line uniformly up its length, functional but nothing more. Where Keith’s door is heavy, dark wood, Hunk’s is cold and metal, black cursive numbers marking the apartment. The hollow ring from Lance’s knock echoes down the empty hallway.

“Just a minute,” comes a muffled voice from behind the door.

Unconsciously Keith’s gaze wanders to Lance, eyes instantly darting away when he catches Lance doing the same. It's painfully quiet between them until Lance clears his throat.

The door flies open with a welcoming draw, the large, cheerful presence of Hunk filling the space left in its wake. “Hey guys, you made it!”

“Of course, I’ve been looking forward to this evening since it was first suggested.” Lance is tall and animated in front of Hunk, reaching out to clasp his arm with a friendly squeeze. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Me too man.” Hunk smiles, first at Lance and then Keith. It’s bright and open and chases away any remaining apprehension Keith might have had about the night. Turning back into the apartment Hunk motions over his shoulder. “Come on in.”

Though from the outside their apartments looked similar, inside it’s anything but. Hunk’s apartment is updated and looks like the kind of place featured in home decorating magazines. Open floor plan, sleek modern kitchen appliances, and a full multimedia centre where the living room is nestled at the far end of the room. It’s simple and put together, looking like a legit an-adult-lives-here home, minus the multiple gaming systems, maybe.

Lance’s low whistle sounds through the apartment. “Your home is quite impressive.”

“Thanks. It’s belongs to my parents but they let me stay for cheap while I’m still in school.”

“That’s very generous of them.”

Hunk hums affirmatively from inside the fridge of his kitchen and Keith silently watches the way Lance moves around the apartment, unapologetically taking it all in. He moves slowly but with confidence, running his fingers along the shining white dining table, eyes roaming over the space around them. When he bends to lean over the rectangular metal island where most of the nights dinner is laid, Keith allows his gaze to linger a touch longer than he should, painfully reminding himself of all the things he wants but really shouldn’t.

“So this is sushi?”

Shaking himself from his trance and coming up to the island Keith settles on the other side just as Hunk slides up with a bowl of steaming edamame beans, placing it between them all.

“Yeah. I’ve got some rolls.” Hunk gestures to a large round plate in the middle of the spread, filled to the brim with pieces and piled high. “Nothing too crazy, just some simple ones like avocado, salmon, California...”

He sweeps his hand over to another bunch of plates. “And over here some tempura, nigiri, sashimi…”

Keith feels his mouth being to water. 

“And I’m just about to fry up some gyoza, but in the meantime,” Hunk points to the bowl he’s just put down, “help yourselves to edamame.”

“Hunk, this looks amazing,” Keith breathes, stomach actually growling at all the food in front of them. He knew Hunk liked to cook but this is like next level. Across from him Lance nods empathically, his wide eyes never leaving the island countertop.

“Wait till you eat it,” Hunk grins, turning to the stove and placing a pan of oil onto one of the burners, blue flames dancing underneath.

Reaching for an edamame pod Keith absently sucks it, popping the beans into his mouth and humming at the saltiness swirling along his taste buds. When he goes to reach for another the back of his neck prickles with the sensation of someone watching him. He glances up at Lance, startled to find the man’s head tilted to the side and eyes curiously glued to him.

“What are you doing?” Lance asks slowly, clearly trying to work it out for himself.

He feels his face start to burn a litte. “Eating.”

“Yes but why did you eat it like _that_?”

“Because,” Keith replies, a little snappier than called for. “You don’t eat the pod. Just suck the salt off.”

To demonstrate he slips another one into his mouth, holding on to one end and pursing his lips around it. A small sucking sound escaping.

“Then you pop the beans out.” Softly he bites down, slowly easing the beans from the pod to chew, mouth open so Lance can see. “Anmdf eat thos-f.”

When he’s done he licks the salt from his fingers before running his tongue along the edge of his lips to get it all. Placing the empty pod on an unoccupied plate he's suddenly aware of the way Lance hasn’t taken his now slightly unfocused eyes off of his mouth since he first started talking.

The dazed silence gets embarrassingly long.

“Lance?” he prompts, hand moving to lightly shove at his shoulder until he catches himself, instead turning it into a stiff half wave in front of Lance’s eyes.

Snapping back to attention Lance quickly grabs an edamame, mumbling some sort of thanks as he hurriedly retreats to Hunk’s side at the stove.

Before Keith can even begin to wonder what the hell that was about a knock at the door claims his attention.

“Could you get that Keith?” Hunk calls from over his shoulder, removing the pan of fresh fried gyoza from the stove top and asking Lance to slide a plate over.

Grateful for something to do Keith heads to the door, instantly relaxing once more when Shiro and Pidge’s smiling faces greet him. He stands aside to let them in just as Hunk comes ambling up, wiping his hands with a towel. Behind him Lance smiles a little shyly.

“Hi, welcome! Come on in,” Hunk says stopping just in front of the newcomers.

Since Keith is the only one aside from Lance who knows everyone here he figures introductions fall on him. “Pidge, Shiro, this is Hunk. Hunk this is Pidge and Shiro.”

“Hi,” Pidge says with her own socially awkward little wave, but she doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Hunk is swooping down and bringing her in for a hug. The squawk he squeezes out of her brings a impish grin to Keith’s face but he tries to hide it when her glaring eyes lock on him from over Hunk’s arm.

Shiro smiles good-naturedly at the two, waiting until Hunk releases Pidge to say his own hello, not even flinching when Hunk wraps his arms around Shiro as well.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Shiro continues lifting the arm not patting Hunk’s back to push a large bottle at him. “We brought sake.”

Pulling away from Shiro, Hunk grabs the bottle. “Right on, this is great thanks.”

“What’s saw-kay?”

Lance is looking questioningly between the bottle and Hunk, gaze lifting to Shiro when he starts to explain. “It’s rice wine, a traditional Japanese drink.”

Lance’s eyes light with understanding and a small smirk plays on his lips. “It’s alcoholic? Well then, what are we waiting for?”

“Okay,” Hunk chuckles. “Dinner is ready, I figured I’d just leave everything on the island so people can dish up what they want. Everyone grab some food and I’ll pour the sake.”

“None for me, thanks,” Keith calls after Hunk. Now probably isn’t the best time.

Both Hunk and Lance stare at Keith with raised eyebrows but it’s Pidge that speaks up. “Really? Not even a little? You should be fine. Shiro?”

“It’d probably be okay if you wanted some Keith. I’ll probably have a small cup.”

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer Lance asks the room at large. “Am I missing something? Is there a reason Keith shouldn’t be drinking?” He glances at Hunk beside him to confirm he’s not the only one confused. Hunk merely shrugs his shoulders.

Slightly embarrassed and more than a little aggravated that this has suddenly become a thing, Keith sighs as he finds himself explaining. “It’s nothing. Just, sometimes alcohol triggers timing but with less control. Which is not something we need...” he trails off, fixing his glare to the back wall, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone.

As Shiro steps closer to Keith he can hear a quiet, “oh,” from the direction of Hunk and Lance.

“It’s okay Keith, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Shiro wraps a hand around Keith’s arm, squeezing for reassurance and waiting until Keith defeatedly gives up his glare to look at him. His smile is warm, supportive. Has Keith slowly lowering his defenses. That is until Shiro speaks again.

“Besides,” he leans closer, lowering his voice to quietly say with a gleam in his eye, “you’ve got Lance for control now.”

He laughs while Keith splutters, trying to send him his stoniest scowl. He’d told Shiro about their timing back from Seattle and how easy it’d been, but that had been in confidence. That bastard.

Still flustered Keith darts his eyes to Lance praying that Shiro’s words were too quiet for anyone else to hear. Lance is walking back towards the kitchen with Hunk and it almost looks like he’s dodged the bullet, but when he looks back, only to quickly avert his eyes there can be no mistaking the light dusting of pink along the apple of his cheek.

Feeling spiteful Keith jams an elbow hard into Shiro’s stomach, enjoying the forceful huff of air that leaves his mouth when he doubles over. Smirking to himself he hears Pidge tutt, having watched to whole pitiful scene unfold.

“Come on _nerds_ , lets get some food already.”

They crowd around the island, filling their plates and settling down at the large dining table, easily accommodating their lively group. Keith is nestled between Pidge and Shiro, leaving Hunk and Lance to sit across from them and giving Keith a front row seat to Lance's raw, unfiltered enjoyment of each and every single thing he puts in his mouth. Not that he wouldn't know Lance was swooning over his meal without looking. Humming and low moans escape from Lance so often it’s starting to remind Keith of the shower incident. Shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat he tries to block Lance out by tuning into Pidge and Hunk’s conversation.

“You're an engineer too?” Hunk’s excitedly exclaiming.

Pidge shrugs her shoulders, modest as always. “Double major,” she explains while popping a roll in her mouth.

“Whoa that's awesome. I'm in my last year at the university, just trying to find an internship cause my last one finished early.”

“I could probably get you one at Altea. I'm working on a few projects and could use some help.”

“Really? That would be amazing!”

Keith grins to himself a little, glad to see Pidge getting along with Hunk. The big guy does make it easy but there's a reason he and Pidge gravitated towards each other in middle school and it wasn't because of their extensive social circles, in fact it was due to their lack of. Neither wanted it the other way though.

When his gaze inevitably tracks from Hunk to the brown haired man beside him like a magnet pulling him in he's startled to find bright blue eyes watching him with softness. It's the briefest flash before they're darting away but Keith feels the flutters in his chest all the same.

Lance fumbles with his plate a moment before clearing his throat and turning his attention to Shiro.

“So Shiro what is it that you do?”

Looking way too surprised at being spoken to Shiro looks up from his plate, mouth full and bulging. It makes Lance laugh, the light, airy sound dancing around them. The fluttering in Keith spreads.

Gulping his mouthful down Shiro responds. “At the moment I'm working with Altea Institute, putting together programs and support for timers. Infrastructure for an entire division that’s thriving in the future but just starting out now.”

“Is that why you spend so much time in the future?” Lance asks.

Seizing his opportunity to get back at Shiro for earlier Keith jumps in, mumbling loud enough for them both to hear while he pretends to be more interested in his dinner. “Among _other_ things.”

Beside him Shiro jerks and Keith can see the way his grip tightens around his chopsticks, practically feeling the heat of a glare he knows is on him without looking up.

Lance picks up on the implication just like Keith knew he would. “Ooohhh and what _other_ things might there be, hmm?”

“Ignore him,” Shiro tries to dismiss with a wave of his hand.

“No, no I insist. I seem to recall you mentioning something about a woman, perhaps? Last time we talked.”

“I don't think so.”

But red heat is steadily crawling up the length of Shiro’s neck. On the other side of Keith he notices the silence now there, just before Pidge speaks up.

“Are we talking about Shiro’s girlfriend in the future?”

“S-she’s not -” Shiro stutters but Lance is quickly cutting in.

“You have a girlfriend who lives in the future?” He looks genuinely shocked. “How is that even possible?”

“We’re not dating guys.”

“Officially,” Keith chimes in, sing songy. Or at least as close to sing song as he gets.

“You know what…” Shiro catches himself, pinching the bridge of his nose before he can get further worked up. Taking a steadying breath he decides to give up all pretenses. “It's a lot of work. But I've been getting better at controlling when and where I time since the accident so now I can pretty much visit whenever I want. It's not much different than a long distance relationship, _but again_ we're not really dating.”

“Sure you're not,” Keith gibes, just to rile him up.

Shiro draws himself up to his full height, glowering over Keith and preparing for his own verbal assault when Hunk is suddenly cutting the tension.

“If you don't mind me asking, what accident?”

Everyone around the table blinks up at Hunk, surprised at the question. But Shiro’s wearing a long sleeved button down, his prosthetic hand so like the real thing Hunk’s probably not even aware of it. Looking worried that he may have overstepped a boundary he’s quick to add on, “it's okay if you don't want to talk about it.”

“No it's fine, I don't mind.”

Keith looks at him hesitantly, apprehension filing his chest on behalf of Shiro. It's not exactly the kind of story you share with someone you've just met. Shiro, however, doesn't seem uncomfortable.

“About eight years ago I timed right into the civil war and was shot in the arm and captured by the Confederate army. They thought I was a spy for the Union and refused to treat me until I gave them the information they wanted, but obviously I didn't have any.” 

He breaks off, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Across from them Lance is staring bug eyed and pale, making Keith wonder if maybe Lance’s family had been affected by the war. His dad would have been about the right age when it broke out.

“I was injured and weak which made it difficult to time home. I was there for a few days before my body finally just did it for me but by the time I got back… my arm was too infected to save.”

Silence settles heavy over the table. Keith knows there’s more to the story. The way they tortured Shiro trying to get him to talk. Withheld food and water until he was so delirious and near death he didn't even realize he'd timed home. But looking at the faces of Hunk and Lance he can see why Shiro would leave those details out. Despite already knowing the story even Pidge looks unsettled.

“I - I'm sorry, Shiro,” Hunk says quietly, probably wishing he hadn't brought it up.

But Shiro smiles kindly at him, even with the melancholy lingering in his grey eyes. “Thank you but it's okay, really. As hard as it was, it moved my life in a pretty incredible direction. Now I work at Altea, helping other timers and creating a better future. I feel like my life has a purpose again.”

With a heavy hand resting on his shoulder Keith smiles at Shiro. He can be cheesy as fuck sometimes and Keith will never understand where that optimism comes from but it's endearing all the same.

“And besides,” Shiro adds, digging his fingers into Keith’s shoulder before patting him on the back. “I probably wouldn’t have met Keith otherwise.”

“How did it lead to meeting Keith?” 

Lance’s question draws Keith’s attention to him. He’s looking at Keith and Shiro with a tilted head, pressed forward slightly into the table as though eager to hear the story.

Nervous at the unintentional intimacy of the question and definitely not ready to share his own story Keith’s response is brisk, hoping to discourage further questions. “We just met in a workshop that Shrio led, that’s all.”

As usual Lance doesn't get the memo. “A workshop?”

“Yeah, for timers.” Keith tries to stop himself from squirming in his seat, but the slight shift upwards and the dry swallow in his throat must give him away because Lance leans back, shutting his mouth and dropping his eyes to the table.

For a few seconds the silence in the room is thick and filled with tension, everyone more than aware of Keith’s discomfort. It’s not until Pidge grabs her small cup of sake and raises it to the group at large that Keith finally feels like he can breathe. Now that all eyes are off him.

“Hunk this meal has been amazing. I propose a toast,” she says lifting her hand a little higher in the air. “To Hunk.”

Dropping the cup to her lips she knocks back the shot in one go, gasping slightly at the sting then looking expectantly around the table. Shiro and Lance immediately catch on, raising their own cups in unison with Keith just a few ticks behind.

“To Hunk!” they exclaim,enjoying their own drinks while Hunk’s beaming face looks on.

“Aww thanks guys.”

After dinner they make their way to the living room, Pidge immediately zeroing in on Hunk’s classic Nintendo 64.

“Oh my god I can’t believe you have this,” she squeals while searching through his games. Getting even more excited when she finds Mario Kart 64.

Hunk and Pidge immediately start playing each other but it’s not long before Hunk takes it upon himself to teach Lance how to play. Which is altogether pathetic and hilarious, Lance trying to coordinate his hands on the controls to the speeding cars on a screen he’s barely even used to watching.

As the night goes on the three of them continue hitting the sake while Keith and Shiro cut themselves off after the first cup. But watching the way their excited playing and yelling gets worse with every drink until they eventually devolve into fits of laughter, is its own kind of entertainment. Lance, who up until this point had remained close to Hunk on the opposite couch ends up plopping down next to Keith after handing his controller back to Pidge when they switch games to Zelda. He slumps heavily into Keith’s side apparently forgetting the awkwardness that's recently distanced them in his slight inebriated state. His body heat sears so hot that tiny beads of sweat begin to form along the back of Keith’s neck.

Tilting his head up Lance breathes out a whispered, “hi.”

The nutty, floral smell of sake puffs warmly against Keith’s already heated skin, unintentionally sending a shiver down his spine. He leans his head back to focus on the honey skinned face, hazy azure eyes so close he can see the way Lance’s wide pupils dilate as they try to take him in. A lazy, playful smile sits on his lips and he stays that way, patiently waiting for... what, Keith has no idea.

“Uh… hi?”

Lance only chuckles in response, moving to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder, taking a moment to shuffle closer so he doesn’t have to lean so far across the couch. Almost as if on instinct Keith moves his face a little bit closer, unconsciously breathing in the smell of his own discount shampoo, somehow smelling more earthy and natural in Lance’s hair than it ever has in his.

Across the way he catches Shiro watching them with an amused glint in his eyes. Trying not to give himself away he attempts to shrug at Shiro in a sort of ‘what can ya do’ gesture. Judging by the snort and exaggerated roll of his eyes Shiro isn’t buying it. A loud yawn escapes from the warm body pressed against him and Lance sinks further into side.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Shiro says. “I don’t think Lance is going to make it much longer.”

“M’fine, jus restin m eyes.” Another yawn, bigger than the first shakes Lance’s whole body.

“No I think Shiro’s right. We should get going.”

Slowly Keith starts to get up, pushing his arms between them so he can support Lance’s weight as he slides out. He holds onto his side gently, tenderly bringing a gloved hand up to cradle the side of Lance’s face when he twists his shoulder out from underneath last. Lance’s eyes pop open, instantly meeting Keith’s and holding them in a moment of stillness that has Keith absently brushing his thumb along Lance’s cheek, tracing the contour.

“You need help getting up?” he quietly asks.

Wordless and eyes still wide and piercing Lance nods, sliding a hand along Keith’s arm to grab hold of his shoulder while Keith’s other hand drops to the curve of Lance’s hip. He tugs up lightly as he braces himself against Lance’s pull. For someone who seemed seconds away from passing out the movement is surprisingly quick and smooth. So quick that Keith doesn’t have time to prepare for the way Lance suddenly stands practically in his arms, lean, toasty body just inches away. He steps back hastily, hands falling away and a chill settling over him with his disappointment. He _knows_ he can’t afford to get so close but his longing just isn't getting the message.

Needing something else, anything else, to look at he moves his gaze over to Hunk, still animatedly playing video games with Pidge. From the look on Pidge’s face and the way she’s still bouncing in her seat, she’s probably going to be there for awhile yet.

“I’m gonna take Lance home,” he announces to the two players on the couch. “Thanks for having us over Hunk.”

Looking up from the game Hunk’s smile is almost as large as he is. “Yeah man this was great. We should totally do this again.”

“As long as you keep cooking we’ll keep coming,” Pidge definitively states, jabbing out an elbow in Hunk’s direction. Keith nods in agreement.

“You need any help getting out?”

“No thanks, I’ve got it Shiro.” He throws a look at his friend behind his shoulder as he grabs on to Lance’s wrist, dragging him towards the door.

Too tired to protest Lance shuffles behind him dutifully. “G’night everyone,” Lance calls just as they make their way through the doorway.

Keith closes the door to a chorus of, “Goodnight,” just catching the smug, knowing looks the three friends pass between each other before the door clicks shut.

Lance falls asleep in the car, face pressed against the glass while heat blows full force against his face. The fringe of his hair parting and dances along the edge of smooth, flawless skin beneath. Keith manages to get them up to his apartment with Lance half draped over his shoulders and supporting the full of his body weight. He’s not surprised when his attempt to ease Lance down turns into an unceremonious dump onto the mattress in his living room. 

Out within seconds of flopping down, Keith’s left with the task of getting Lance ready for bed. He kneels down in the soft light of the moon that filters toward them, illuminating the motes of dust left lingering in the air. Gently he pulls off Lance’s shoes, ignoring the heat that starts to swirl dangerously low as he leans over Lance to carefully push the jacket from his shoulders. He watches the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, his own breaths coming fast and choppy.

For a brief moment he considers removing Lance’s pants but knows the trembling of his fingers will only get worse if he attempts it. So instead he holds tight to his self control and drapes a blanket over Lance’s body, tucking it up tight around his shoulders. In the low light he looks ethereal, features peaceful and relaxed, lips parted in sleep. Keith's control slips as he hesitates for a moment, the need to be closer tugging at him so forcefully he can’t fight it. Slowly, pace almost glacial, he starts to lean down, the yearning in him building until he’s pressing his nose into Lance’s hair, breath catching as he draws in that soothing, earthy scent one last time. Lips quivering, his crushing willpower finally kicks back in and he breaks away, using the momentum to shrink to his room without even a second glance at the man looking more desirable than ever in his living room.

 

* * *

 

His heart is racing, hammering so hard against his ribcage it just might break free. Hot breath blows across his face but it's not the good kind. The wolf above him is inches from his neck, the only thing stopping those powerful jaws from ripping out his throat is the bone of his forearm lodged between its teeth. Searing drops of blood splatter against his mouth and jaw, the agonizing scream torn from the depths of his chest as he realizes this is it. His shaking limbs try desperately to push back but he's cold and injured and so tired. Clenching his eyes shut his mother's face flashes in the darkness just as he feels the snap of his arm and sickening bile rise. His body convulses with one last ditch effort to fight back, one last chance to live.

“Keith!”

A distant voice cries his name, the weight overtop of him starting to lighten.

“Keith, wake up!”

The voice gets closer, fingers grip hard into his shoulders, the panic in those words breaking through and forcing his eyes to snap open.

“Keith!”

A dark shape looms over him and he flinches back, arms flying outward in fear until a hand clasps tightly onto his.

“Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”

The blurry form comes into focus, dark hair hanging forward to frame the alarmed face with tan skin and blue eyes searching his own. Another hand comes down on his chest, pressing into the wildly thumping centre of his heart. The hand still holding his own pulls them close towards Lance’s side.

“It was just a dream,” Lance assures. “Only a dream.”

Keith’s heaving breathes fill the dark of his room, sweat dampening the hair around his face and the sheets twisted under his body. Shock and relief overtake him as he curls in on himself, a choked sob escaping. Immediately Lance moves his hands back to Keith's shoulders, hauling him into a crushing hug. It has Keith tensing, bracing himself against Lance’s warmth but it's a losing battle. This close, with Lance’s heat and Lance’s smell assaulting his senses he forgets why he should keep his distance and slumps forward, sinking into the embrace. Twisting his hands into the back of Lance’s shirt he pulls him closer, wishes he could pull him into himself and stay there, always.

A hand combs through the inky strands at the back of his head, nails lightly scratching down to the scalp and raising goosebumps down the length of his neck. He buries his face in Lance’s shoulder, lips brushing against his clothed collarbone. Vibrations thrum through his chest and he realizes Lance is humming. That same tune from the park, the cab ride, Seattle. He lets himself melt further, absorbs himself in the moment. When his heart slows and his damp breath forms an uncomfortable wet spot on Lance’s shirt he peels back.

“What is that?” he asks, raising his head just enough that he can peer up, see those eyes, looking navy in the dark, stare back at him.

“The song?”

Keith nods.

“Just a tune my mother would hum to us at bedtime. La Paloma.”

Lance continues the song, humming a little louder now that he knows Keith is listening. His hand trails down from Keith's hair to rub soothing circles into his back. Absently he starts leaning back, taking Keith with him until they’re lying flat on the mattress of his bed, Keith laying across Lance’s chest, taking his hand once more to press them together.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Lance murmurs, turning his face into Keith's hair.

Keith thinks he should probably pull away, should tell Lance he's fine and just wants to sleep. But he doesn't want that. He hasn't been held like this since his mom. Hasn't felt safe in someone else's arms for so long that the foreign sensation is altogether terrifying, addicting and still not enough. He doesn't _want_ to let go. Doesn't think he could even if he tried.

“It was a dream,” he says, echoing Lance’s statement from before. “I… still dream about it.”

“About your mother?” Lance’s hand tightens around his.

Keith shakes his head against Lance’s firm chest. “No. I-” he doesn't know what to say, how much he wants to reveal. He takes a steadying breath.

“The workshop… where I met Shiro… it was for timers,” the pads of his fingers tremble against Lance’s. “Timers with PTSD.”

“What’s PTSD?” Unsure what else to do Lance continues the light strokes across his back.

Keith speaks quietly. “Post traumatic stress disorder. I was attacked - almost died - it was to help us… deal.”

“Keith…” It’s spoken hushed and pained against his hair. The fingers on his back press into him, bringing him flush to Lance’s side. He gasps at the urgency of the movement.

“It's okay,” he finds himself reassuring, the irony not lost on him. He raises their hands to clumsily pat Lance’s chest. He longs to rub his hand across its broad expanse, to gently soothe his worry away but refuses to disentangle their fingers, clinging even harder to his hand.

There's so much left to talk about. So much left unsaid. But he can't find it in himself to speak. Exhaustion weighs down against him, the swelter of Lance’s body seeping in, bleeding down to his core and turning his insides to slow moving molasses. Here he's warm. Here he's safe.

He allows himself to settle into it. To move with the flow and let it go. He's not sure how much time passes but sooner than he's ready he feels Lance start to squirm. Carefully trying to slip out from under him.

“No, stay,” he drowsily pleads. Might even whimper a little because the hand in his grips harder and the humming returns. It's low and rumbling, the perfect soundtrack to the other hand that's brushing through his hair, sweeping out his bangs. He cracks open an eye and finds the concerned press of Lance’s lips melt into a gentle smile. Blue eyes, soft and grounding, track his face. Transmit an unspoken devotion between them that threatens to blast apart every chink in his armor. The corner of his mouth twitches up and he drags their clasped hands further towards him, tucking them safely under his chin.

“Stay,” he whispers, one last time before sleep takes over.

 

* * *

 

After that things are both simultaneously more comfortable and more confusing between them. The awkwardness is mostly gone but there's still _something_ off, some disconnect. It's in the way Lance can't meet his eyes sometimes, in the way he always pulls back when they get too close, and in the way he wasn't in Keith's bed when he'd woken up the next morning. Granted it _had_ almost been noon before he’d opened his eyes, and Lance _had_ seemed perfectly at ease around him when he’d shuffled through the kitchen, bed head and all. But it’d ached in a part of his heart he'd never felt before when he'd realized there was nothing but cold sheets underneath him.

Even a few days later it still hurts and he's now about ninety percent sure he can no longer bear the thought of Lance going back home. Even separated as they are now, him waiting for Pidge and Lance out with Hunk, has him bouncing his leg anxiously. He’s waiting in the corner table of the coffee shop down the block, an Americano steaming in his hand while a salted Mocha waits for Pidge, but all he can think about is _Lance_.

Lance and Hunk were fast becoming friends, having hung out with him almost every day since sushi night. Mostly they’d stuck around Hunk’s place, Keith watching Lance learn to play video games, but when he’d mentioned his usual meet up with Pidge, Lance was quick to make alternate plans with Hunk. Still not sure exactly how far apart or how long they should be separated in case he times Hunk had thought of going to the mall fairly close by. Apparently he had a whole afternoon of “cultural education” - his words - planned. Watching Lance start to make his own life here, even if it was unconscious, sparked a concerning amount of happiness deep within Keith’s soul and he knew it would only hurt all the more when Lance left.

“Hey sorry I'm late,” Pidge apologizes as she abruptly crashes into the seat beside him, throwing her jacket and scarf across the back.

Jerking from his thoughts in surprise his eyes dart up, taking in his friend's messy state. Hair disheveled, glasses askew, the heavy rise and fall of her chest suggesting she'd hurried to get here.

“Hey. Don't worry about it, I got your coffee.”

The drink is already at her lips, eyes fluttering shut as she takes a long, savouring sip. “Thank you. Ugh I needed this.”

“Long day already?”

“No, it’s just - Rover’s taking longer to calibrate than I’d anticipated and I _really_ wanted to be testing him by now.” She sinks in her seat a bit, tired frustration painted across her face.

“You’ll get there,” he reassures, patting the hand curled tight around her Mocha. “Hunk’s gonna be helping you soon right?”

“Yeah.” She sighs, still sounding dejected. But then her eyes widen and she’s leaning forward across the table, making frenzied eye contact and grabbing tightly onto his arm. “Oh my god, I haven’t even told you yet!”

Keith flinches a little at the way her fingers dig into the meat of his forearm. “Tell me what?”

“Okay so, when I asked the department head about getting Hunk an internship they asked why I needed help, so I'm listing all the things still left to do and they decide to give me _two_ interns!” Her eyes are gleaming in excitement, he can feel the waves of anticipation rolling off her.

“That’s great Pidge.” Smiling, he tries to figure out why this has got her so amped up.

“Yeah but that’s not the best part.”

“No?”

“You’ll never guess who the other intern is…”

It has him pausing, because he’s pretty sure he’s not actually supposed to have an answer for that. There’s only so many people Keith and Pidge know mutually and she knows better than to think Keith’s noticed or remembered any of them.

She eyes him eagerly, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth. “His name... is Alfor.”

Coming up blank he just stares, and blinks at her. Is that supposed to mean something?

Huffing at his reaction she continues. “So this kid is basically a genius. He’s only 18 but halfway through an applied physics degree but that’s not the crazy part…”

“... okay...”

“19 years from now he’s going to have a daughter, and she’ll also end up working at Altea…” Here she pauses, raising her eyebrows with a slow nod, encouraging him to figure it out.

Not getting it, he scowls.

So she leans closer, peering up with a look bordering between expectant and exasperated, her tone belittling. “Leading the prosthetics division...” 

It hits him between the eyes with sudden clarity, mouth dropping open. “Oh.” A smile tugs the corners of his mouth. “Are you-?”

“Bossing around Shiro’s girlfriend’s dad? Yeah I am!”

“Holy shit,” he breathes out in stunned amazement. “Does Shiro know yet?”

Her grin turns positively shit eating. “He’s met him!”

“What?!”

“Yesterday. Shiro came by for some more tests and -” her shoulders start to shake and she snorts. “- Oh god Keith you should have seen it! He was all flustered and tripping over himself - he even called him sir! A 32-year-old man calling an 18-year-old sir.”

Pitching forward to clutch at his sides they both break out in uncontrollable laughter because Keith can just picture it. Big, intimidating Shiro, usually calm and collected Shiro, reduced to a stuttering mess trying to be polite and leave a good impression with the woman he dates teenaged father.

“Does -” he has to heave a breath to collect himself before continuing. “Does Alfor know?”

“I don’t think so,” she cackles. “He just looked really confused.”

“Shit, please tell me you took a video.”

“Nah,” Pidge wipes a tear from her eye. “I was trying to get some actual work done.”

Still snorting Keith shakes his head. “Well hopefully I’ll see it for myself soon.”

“Oh you will. Shiro’s totally hopeless.”

Shoulders still twitching in silent laughter Keith leans back in his chair, taking a long draught of his now lukewarm Americano. When he looks back at Pidge she’s watching him with that impish grin still in place.

“Speaking of hopeless.” She arches an eyebrow. “Where is _your_ better half?”

His smile instantly falls into a scowl. Storm clouds forming around him.

“Don’t.”

“What?” Pidge feigns ignorance.

He gives her a deadpan stare, wise enough not to say anything else. They hold eye contact for a few seconds more before she sighs, dropping the act.

“Fine. It’s just weird seeing you without Lance.”

“It’s not that weird.” He mutters, defensively, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You’re not afraid of timing without him close by?”

Slumping forward with a heavy breath, he brings a hand up, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Honestly?… yeah I'm a little worried about it. But the likelihood of me timing right now isn’t that high. And he’s just with Hunk over at the mall so it’s not like he’s _far,_ far.”

He shrugs, hoping that can be the end of it. He’s seen the looks Pidge’s thrown his way and knows exactly what she’s thinking. Talking about it, with anyone, is not really something he’s ready to do though. It makes it all the more real, all the more cutting.

Just then he feels a buzzing in his pocket, three distinct buzzes popping off in a row.

**Incoming Text: Hunk**

**sup bro its Lance**  
**Hunks teachin me how 2 txt**  
**so hmu**

Keith stares at his phone stunned. Because, seriously?

“Jesus,” he breathes, shaking his head, and there is _definitely not_ an amused smile fighting for control of the corners of his mouth.

“What is it?” Pidge asks from across the way, watching him with a curious head tilt.

Shaking his head once again he hands over his phone. A loud bark of laughter erupting as she squints to read the small conversation bubbles.

“Oh my god. This is too good.”

Then she's pulling the phone towards her, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth and thumbs furiously typing back before he can snatch it away. She throws out an elbow to hold him at bay, finally reliquinshing her incredibly tight grasp after she hits send.

 _orly_  
_im jc w my grl_

He rolls his eyes at Pidge. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to say.”

“Not my fault you’re not with it.”

_That was Pidge btw_

He quickly types it in, not wanting Lance to think he’s actually going to indulge in this ridiculousness. The btw he couldn’t help, it’s just a lot easier than typing the whole thing out, okay.

**lol. Hunk n i r goin 2 grab lunch**  
**care 2 join?**  
**bring Pidge**

Looking up he finds Pidge leaning against the table, chin resting in her hand and eyeing him smugly and he realizes that somewhere between lol and Pidge that goofy smile he’d been fighting against had won. Heat rises on his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she smarmily replies, hiding a smile behind her hand.

He ducks behind his cup of coffee with another long sip, attempting to stew in this awkward embarrassment privately, letting his attention flit between the other patrons of the coffee shop. It's relatively quiet, mostly just a few people absorbed in their own work. The general silence giving him space to feel the heat of his blush all the way to his chest.

“We should get Lance a phone. I probably have an old one somewhere.”

It makes him start, a wild thrill bubbling up at the thought. But he pushes it down, resolutely stomps on it because it can’t happen. His heart can’t take it.

“He can’t stay here you know.” The words spit from his mouth, bitter and stabbing.

Pidge falters, taken back by his sudden hostility. “I know, I just thought -”

“There’s no point Pidge. He probably won’t even be here much longer.”

Angry frustration tightens his chest, clenching his hands to fists that shake ever so slightly. He knows it’s not fair to take this out on Pidge, knows that he has to get his shit together but the more time he spends with Lance the harder it is. The more he looks at that stupidily beautiful face and gets these stupidily endearing texts the lighter he feels. As though he could float away into the atmosphere, getting lost in the feeling until he’s falling so hard he’ll never survive the impact. Now more than ever he and everyone else needs to understand that Lance _will_ be going home.

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice is gentle. She lowers the hand cupping her face onto his arm, lightly resting it there. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. There’s still a chance-”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Even if he could stay, he’d still go home.” The pain of his words, the truth of them shake him to his core.

She throws him an indecipherable look but her tone is definitely sharper. “What makes you think-”

“Pidge I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But-”

“Enough.”

He jerks his arm back, pushing away from the table and standing up to quickly gather his things.

“Look I should get going. I’ll see you later okay.”

“Keith wait.”

But he’s already walking away, head down and storming towards the front door without a glance back to where Pidge is left hurt and gawking. He needs to get out of there, the heavy, acidic ball of sour rage, working it’s way up his burning lungs and threatening to tear out of his throat, almost demanding it. With stinging eyes he pulls up his messages, sending out one last text.

_sorry can’t make it_

**np ill c u l8r**

For the first time he almost wishes he wouldn't see him later and despondently wonders if maybe it’s time to seriously consider taking Lance home. 

Before the splintering of his chest cuts any deeper.

 

 

* * *

 

“No.”

“But Keeiith.”

“Lance, I said no.”

“I think we would have a good time.”

He's staring at Lance incredulously. The flyer to some new club thrown on the cushions of the couch between them.

The temper that had overtaken him in the coffee shop had left him quaking with a desperate need for release. So he’d walked with no other purpose in mind than blissful escape and had somehow found himself in front of the shop that held his bike. Taking it as, as good a sign as any he’d slipped into his storage space, the sleek black motorcycle he's been building from the ground up so close to completion within.

Working on it always made sense. It was easy for him. Here everything fit, had a place where it belonged and that was that. There was no second guessing, no wondering or what ifs only greasy motor oil and cold metal parts. The quiet of the garage absorbing his chaotic thoughts and offering no judgement. Of course he'd stayed longer than he should've. Long enough to have Lance call him from Hunk’s phone worried. 

Though most of his venom had dissipated by the time he'd come home his bad mood still clung to him like a mild tempest. Enough that Lance had left him mostly to his own devices. That is until now.

“You think we'd have fun? At a club?”

“The girl made it sound quite entertaining.”

Keith glares at Lance from across the space. He is _not_ going to a club.

Bravely Lance continues on. “She also gifted me two of these special cards. Hunk called them VIP cards.” He levels him a steadfast stare. “It means very important person Keith.”

It makes Keith’s snort. “She's a promoter. She gets paid by the club to hand them out.”

“Still.” Lance crosses his arms defiantly. “I would like to go and Hunk is unavailable.”

Dropping his head back against the couch Keith groans, rubbing the heels of his palms against closed eyes, trying to push away the growing pressure of a headache. “Lance...” he almost pleads.

“The concert was enjoyable, was it not?”

Opening his eyes he sees Lance standing in front of him, the light above haloing his hair in glowing golden tendrils. His lower lip juts out in the beginnings of a pout and Keith feels the hit directly. Not trusting his voice he hesitantly nods.

A small, hopeful grin stretches across Lance’s lips. “Well _this_ could be enjoyable too.”

Keith groans again but he's quickly losing his resolve. Seeming to sense it Lance sits lightly next to him lowering his voice into something soft and imploring.

“Please, Keith.”

Those wide, mesmerizing blue eyes suck him in, catch his heart in his throat. Somehow, incredibly, he still finds his voice. 

“I don't like clubs Lance. They're loud, the drinks are over priced, they play terrible music…”

He chokes on his words as Lance leans a little closer, his buffer of friendly space quickly disappearing.

“How about this?” Lance waits for him, staring in his eyes a second past comfortable before continuing. “We go for a simple visit. Use these cards for one libation and if you’re as uncomfortable as you think you will be, we shall immediately come home.”

“Lance,” Keith tries, voice shaky, but he has to at least try one more time. “I've been to clubs before, I'm not going to like it.”

Pulling back just slightly Lance lays a wide, blazing, heart stopping smile over Keith’s already crumbling will.

“But you've never been to one with me.”

And that was it. Keith was a goner, lost somewhere between sky blue eyes and perfect white teeth, and that was how he found himself leaning against a dark bar, purple lights illuminating the mirrored shelves filled with liquor, trying to grab the attention of a bartender. Because even though he probably shouldn't be drinking he's going to need at least one to get through this. Even with Lance’s arm pressed against his side, there being limited space around the over crowded bar, he still needs a drink.

The club is everything he said it'd be. Loud, like just so fucking loud he swears there must be speakers not only in the walls but in the floor as well. And the music, some sort of electro pop monstrosity where the bass pounds so deep it rattles his teeth in his skull and amps up his frayed nerves.

It's filled with the kind of people you'd expect to find at a club called ‘The Blade.’ Mostly edgy wannabes who probably still live in their parents basement and think everything looks better in tight leather, trying to grind themselves against ditzy pop tarts who are probably about 2 years away from their first nose job. Lets just say it's… really not his scene.

“Excuse me!” Lance yells beside him, raising a hand as though hailing a cab. “Two drinks please!”

One of the bartenders closest to them turns his head in their direction, nodding once while he finishes the drink he's currently pouring.

Lance, on the other hand, appears to be loving this atmosphere, if the smile that's taken permanent residence on his face is anything to go by. Since the moment they walked in he's kept his head on a swivel, staring wide eyed at everything in his path. The DJ booth that’s raised in the centre of a large circular dance floor, the second level balcony that rings around, lights dangling from the ceiling that almost look like giant knives, lethal and shimmering like disco balls. Everything bathed in the same purple light as the bar. More than once Keith has caught Lance sending appreciative glances to the many, many women in dresses that should really have more to them which may or may not be contributing to Keith’s extra bitter mood.

“What can I get you?” The bartender shouts at Lance even though he’s directly in front of them. He’s large and bulky, a long thick braid running down the length of his back. Like most of the people that work there, he does not look like someone you want to mess with.

Lance smiles politely and looks to Keith, probably not sure what’s even available in the future.

“Uh… a rum and coke,” Keith decides.

Next to him Lance leans across the bar. “Two rum and cokes please.”

When the bartender turns to grab the rum from a shelf Lance drops his mouth to Keith’s ear, the warmth of his breath, gently washing against the side of his face. He shivers.

“What’s a rum and coke?”

It has Keith smiling, wondering why Lance would order something when he doesn’t even know what it is. And then after some consideration, wondering why he’s even surprised by that.

“It’s just that. Rum and coke mixed together.”

Lance grins back, leaning even further into his bubble, eyes crinkling like he’s about to make a joke when he’s suddenly pushed forward and completely knocked into Keith. Their heads bang together painfully and Keith’s rubbing at his temple when Lance turns to the source of their attacker.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Shouts a loud, and possibly already intoxicated blonde woman. She lays her hand demurely on Lance’s chest and Keith doesn’t miss the way Lance preens under the attention. “It’s just so crowded up here.”

With a tinkling laugh and pretty green eyes, Lance moves closer to her touch. “It’s quite alright. Sometimes these things just can’t be helped.”

She laughs again and Keith rolls his eyes, thankful to find his drink waiting at the bar in front of him. With a large gulp he looks the other way, trying to ignore the way his heart clenches like a fist in unbridled jealousy. What he finds is another set of green eyes, not far away, watching him. They belong to a man with close cropped dark hair who raises his drink towards Keith with a flirty grin when they make eye contact. Momentarily stunned it takes him a few seconds to realize that someone is tugging him away from the bar.

“Come Keith, this nice young woman would like us to join her friends.”

Struggling to keep his drink from sloshing over in the manhandling he manages to speak against the idea. “Lance I don’t really think-”

“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Keith blinks as he looks up to see a circle of women, crowded around a tall tabletop, parting to admit them. There’s probably about six of them in total, most dressed alike. Short skirts, tight tops, dangling earrings and too much makeup. A few perk up at the appearance of the two men but the others send the blonde who brought them a look of annoyance.

“Guys this is Lance!” The woman shouts, hesitating a moment when she catches sight of Keith, probably not even aware that Lance had dragged him along. “And ah…”

“Keith,” Lance supplies. “This is Keith.”

He gives Keith a hard pat on the back that sends him lurching forward before he catches himself against the table. Placing his drink down he turns to glare at Lance but finds himself melting just a little at the gentle amusement playing within Lance’s aqua eyes. In the purple of the lights, they almost look stormy. A raging sea that he’ll most likely drown in. He parts his lips to say something when the blonde from the bar is latching on to Lance’s arms.

“Laaance come dance with me,” she whines in a way that Keith thinks is meant to sound playful but is really just grating.

Sparing a glance at Keith, Lance winks at him, smirk on his face as he lets the blonde lead him away. “But of course madame.”

And then he’s left alone, at a table of six strangers, none of them even giving him a second look before turning and conversing amongst themselves. It’s fine though, he actually prefers it. Small talk with strangers is definitely not in his skill set. He takes another large sip of his drink, enjoying the slight burn as it slides down his throat, much like the burn in his chest at the thought of Lance with that girl. Indulging in another and then another till he turns his back on the women and lets his gaze wander. 

Eyes trailing over the sea of bodies, swaying and dancing within the insistent beat of the music, he doesn’t have to look far before he spots Lance. Recognizing the easy sway of those hips from the kitchen all those nights ago, now almost hypnotic under the pulsing lights. What he doesn’t recognize are the hands that snake around his neck and draw his face down. The woman in his arms circling her hips ever closer.

Flexing his fingers and gripping hard around the glass in his hand Keith grinds his teeth, pushing off the table as if to cut in when Lance’s blue eyes flash up to meet his, instantly freezing him in his tracks. Lance looks at him questioningly, brows furrowed as he takes in the seething form and tense posture. Belatedly realizing how completely obvious he’s being Keith has just a moment to look chagrined before he tries to turn, flinching in embarrassment.

“Is everything okay?”

He runs smack into a solid body, bouncing off the guy he'd caught watching him from across the bar. Those green eyes, looking almost golden in the lights and only inches from his own, have him stumbling back and apologizing, the heat from his earlier embarrassment only making it worse.

“You’re good. It's not every day a beautiful guy literally runs into me.”

Pausing in whatever excuse he’d been trying to think of Keith gapes, taking a moment to really look at the man before him. He’s _tall_ , like at least head and shoulders taller than Keith, and built, with rippling arms and a firm chest. Keith knows this from the brief second their bodies collided. His eyes are drawn to the guy's right arm, exposed by the tight navy tank top he's wearing and displaying a full sleeve of tattoos. A large mythical creature rising from ash and flames to snake around his forearm and bicep. When he meets those golden green eyes once more the guy gives him a little smirk.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh - ah…” Keith stutters, completely thrown off by his forwardness. It's not that he's not attractive, he's just not -

“Keith, there you are.” 

Lance slides up beside him, grabbing hold of his wrist in an almost painful grip.

“Lance,” Keith almost breathes, way too devout for his liking.

Pulling him closer Lance lays his other hand on the jutt of his hip bone, bodily turning him away from the guy who’s now quirked an eyebrow.

“I'm afraid you are needed elsewhere,” Lance says, not sounding sorry at all. He throws the guy an unmistakably possessive look that has Keith's toes curling at the implication. “On the dance floor to be precise.”

Not wanting to be a total ass Keith gives the guy a small sheepish smile, who only smirks wider and nods at him, oddly amused, before he’s blocked from Keith’s view by the crowd. Lance is still close beside him, hand across his back and the other sliding from his wrist to take his hand, leading him further into the throng of dancers. When they’re close to the DJ booth Lance pushes Keith away by the hip, sending him into a twirl that ends with him spinning back, Keith’s chest pressed against Lance’s, a breathless puff forced from his lips.

“I insist that you dance with me,” Lance says tilting his grin playful. His hands are back on Keith’s hips gently guiding them to the music.

Pulse shooting up towards the moon Keith swallows, ducking his head and quietly murmuring, “I don't really dance.”

“Hmm?”

He lifts his face up, allows his lips to brush against the shell of Lance’s ear. Encouraged by the tremor he feels running down Lance’s body he breathes, “I said, I don't dance.”

Pulling away only far enough to look into Keith’s eyes, Lance scoffs. “Nonsense. You can fight can't you?”

Slowly, never breaking eye contact, Keith nods.

The smile across Lance’s lips almost looks dirty. “Then you can dance.”

His hands swivel Keith’s hips a little more fluidly and Keith takes the hint. Loosening up and allowing himself to move a little, almost like they're sparing. Like the girl before him he slides his arms around Lance’s neck, boldly pulling him a little closer, feeling the firm line of Lance’s body against his own. The brush of his cheek against Lance’s jaw.

They roll with the music. Teasing, pressing, bodies moving tighter with every step. Lance’s presence floods through Keith. Just like the night he'd tucked him into bed, the urge to be closer pushing strongly against his will. Fingers moving without permission they skate lightly against the back of Lance’s neck, twirling the soft brown pieces of hair between them, enjoying how Lance’s breath hitches with every not so accidental tug.

The song switches to something slower, the beat low and throbbing. Demanding more of a grind. Lance slowly pulls his head back, looking at Keith once more. His heated gaze travelling across Keith’s face before resting on his lips. One of his hands moving to trail long fingers down his arm.

“That gentleman you were speaking with had so many markings.” Lance whispers, warm breath fanning across his face. “Do… you have any?”

“Gentleman?” Keith questions, the lustful fog setting in already making him forget the stranger that had approached him. That is until Lance’s fingers brush a little more insistent against his arm, forcing him to physically bite back a gasp.

“The tattoo’s?” he asks, eyebrows raising and getting an almost imperceptible nod from Lance. “No, I don't. It's - not exactly safe… for timers.”

This time his shiver is from fear. Remembering the story of a girl he'd met in Shiro’s workshop. How she'd almost been burned at the stake thanks to her multiple tattoos and timing smack into the late 1600’s Massachusetts.

Lance must pick up on his distress because he's shifting impossibly closer, arms constricting to wrap tight around his middle, reassuring and steady. The hand that'd been caressing his arm now running softly down his spine. “Keith,” he exhales.

The sweet, gentle yearning of his gaze has Keith staring once again into bottomless blue eyes. The pull in his chest is bone deep, a connection that leads only to Lance. It pulses and aches to be closer. Fills him with Lance’s easy calm. Deep in his gut a hunger blooms so powerful that he has to suck in a breath against the desire to touch so strongly burning within him. Lance's fingers falter against his back, shaking with what he hopes is the same craving want that’s sparking between them. 

Unconsciously he licks his lips, watching as Lance’s eyes flicker to the movement, the hand at his back moving up into his hair, grasping at the roots and pulling carefully to tilt his head, opening a clear path, the culmination of all this torturous longing. But he can see the small tremor to Lance’s lips, feel the hesitation in his movements even now. Keith knows he should wait, knows he should hold himself back and let Lance carry forward but it's just _so much_ and he's wanted this for _so long_ and he can feel through their connection that Lance wants this too. Feels that want settle in the pit of his stomach and flare with certainty.

So he pushes up, firmly plants their lips together in a motion that's altogether inexorable yet still not enough. Lance's lips are soft and sweet, the lingering cola sticky and cool. Not wanting to waste a second Keith pulls back a little only to push forward once more, groaning in the back of his throat when Lance finally presses his lips back, moving softly in time with Keith’s. And it's everything he's ever wanted, lights him up and zings through his body, wanting more, needing more. He digs his fingers into the back of Lance’s neck, taking advantage of the man’s gasp to plunge his tongue in gentle caress. A rumbling in Lance's chest has his heart soaring until there's hands on his shoulders, forcefully pushing him away.

They separate with a wet pop and he opens his eyes to see wide cobalt ones, terrified and gaping at him.

“Stop! Keith we can’t.”

He's still a little dazed, heart still pounding and head more than dizzy as he tries to focus on the words cutting towards him. His nose wrinkles, eyebrows come together.

“What?”

He tries to step closer, remove the space so chillingly forced between them but Lance’s arms stay firmly planted, elbows locked to keep him at bay.

“No.”

It clears the haze from Keith’s mind, stabbing sharply into the spacey, bubbling feeling that’s overtaken his body. With a lurching stomach the words finally register.

“No?” he gasps.

“This can't happen again.” Lance avoids his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

Then he turns, disappears in the crowd. His tall form swallowed up in the seconds it takes Keith’s heart to crack. 

And he doesn't understand, can't figure out what happened. How could Lance say that? How could he not feel it too? How things had finally, _finally_ felt right between them. Keith had felt everything click into place. Like all his self inflicted angst and suffering had been for nothing because Lance had been silently wanting him too. He _had_ to, Keith had _felt_ Lance feeling it. And yet Lance was gone.

And Keith was… alone.

Again.

Like always.

It hits him like a ton of bricks. Like a building from Lance’s time collapsing square on top of him. Crushing, defeating, destroying.

He staggers back, doesn't even know where his legs are carrying him until he’s outside, face pressed into his hands and the frigid air not cold enough to touch his already frozen veins. How could he have been so stupid? So thirsty and desperate that he'd even imagined he could feel Lance’s own desire. Projection, that's all it was. All it could ever have been. And now he's here, dealing with the rejection he knew was coming the moment he'd admitted his feelings to himself. He deserves this. Him and his own foolish hope deserve nothing more.

But he can't take it like this. He’s too raw, too exposed, too fucking _angry_. At himself and this horrific situation. He wishes it’d never happened. It should have _never_ happened. For all his time travelling he can't make this go away. Can't undo it and can't forget it. Or maybe…

… maybe he can forget.

It's a bad idea, a _terrible_ idea but it's all Keith’s got and he needs the distraction so badly. Turning back inside he marches towards the bar, slamming his fist, demanding another drink and three shots from the burly man behind it. Never mind what he thought before, if this bartender knows what's good for him, then _Keith_ is the one who shouldn't be messed with.

Regarded with nothing more than cool indifference the bartender unhurriedly fills his drinks. A rum and coke and three shots of whiskey placed in front of him. Throwing his head back he downs two shots, then brings the rum and coke to his lips, almost finishing his drink in one go. Pausing to catch his breath he ducks his head, running fingers through messy hair and fervently praying these drinks make quick work. He can still feel the pain, still feel the cracked whip of Lance’s words across his ribs.

_”This can’t happen again.”_

The idea of never being able to touch Lance, never tasting those soft lips again tears at him. Deep and severe.

“Drinking alone?”

The vaguely familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts, the slight accent catching his interest. Eyes lifting he finds the stranger with the tattoo sleeve sitting at the bar next to him.

Once he's got Keith’s attention he continues. “Where's your boyfriend?”

Though his question sounds sincere Keith feels like he's being mocked.

“Not my boyfriend,” he snarls, turning his back and finishing the rum and coke.

“My bad,” the voice drifts from behind him. “Maybe I can buy you that drink then?”

Keith’s turning back to stare at him, swallowing his knee jerk reaction to tell the guy to fuck off and let him wallow. Because a part of him doesn't want to be alone, can't stand it after all this time spent in near contact with Lance. And because a part of him could really go for free drinks.

“Whiskey,” he says, raising his last remaining shot and gulping it down.

The guy sends him a charged smile, eyes lighting up in anticipation and turning to catch the bartender's attention.

Keith takes the time to give this guy another once over. Noticing for the first time how the tight jeans hugging his ass compliment the expanse of his chiseled chest. The guy’s attractive and knows it. Cocky and self assured and maybe a bit of a douche but surprisingly that doesn't bother him right now. Keith’s bruised ego too hurt to be picky. Just as the guy turns back, shot glasses in hand, he notices his vision begin to stutter, like frames of a scene not moving fast enough to flow together.

“I'm Haxus.”

Taking the shot from his hand Keith shoots it back, wiping his mouth and grinning unreserved and slightly unhinged. “Keith.”

Haxus gets closer, slipping off his stool to move into Keith’s space. It's bold and a little presumptuous but Keith is finally feeling that lightness in his head and craves the body heat more than he should. In fact he should probably push back, should probably take himself home before things spiral, but you know what? Fuck it. He leans in.

“Dance with me?” Haxus asks in a low, dangerous voice, reaching out to lightly run a finger along the underside of Keith’s jaw.

Body and mind moving on autopilot Keith stands, thankful the guy is close enough to use his shoulder as a prop to steady himself. He tries to pass it off as a flirty move by accenting the touch with a little smirk.

“Sure.”

He walks towards the dance floor without a glance back, hoping the slanting of the ground is all in his head. With drinks kicking in and pain starting to numb he floats through the crowd, aimlessly wandering before arms are wrapping around his waist and pulling him back against a solid body.

“Don't go too far,” an accented voice murmurs in his ear.

Still keyed up from dancing earlier he pushes back against that body, instantly circling his hips to the beat pounding up from the floor. He opens his eyes, unaware they'd even shut, about to turn around when he stumbles. In front of him are the tabletops littered around the dance floor, a familiar grouping of women in the same spot as earlier, but this time with Lance in the middle. He's laughing with one of the women, head thrown back, easy and carefree. His arm around the waist of the blonde.

Like a punch to the gut the air is knocked from Keith’s lungs. Regret and agony rushing back in one fell swoop. His eyes blur at the edges, hands curl into fists. Feeling about to ignite, the arms he'd all but forgotten around his middle pull back.

“Forget about him,” the voice from behind whispers harshly. Then softer, deeper, “I can make you feel good.”

And really that's all he wants, isn't it? Just to feel good? The hands on his waist begin to move, one trailing up to glide across his chest and the other tugging back on a hip, forcing a closer grind. Keith's mouth drops open at the sensation, at the warmth radiating from his back and the searching hands smoothly turning his insides to honey. Melting away whatever it was that had bothered him a minute ago.

His mind drifts, blissfully blank of any thoughts, chasing only touch and pleasure. Losing track of time, too lost in the pulsing, heavy movements, their dancing quickly devolves. His head falls back against a shoulder. The ceiling spins. Wet lips nip at his neck. Fingertips tease at nipples. Breaths hitch in gasps. He’s losing control, grabbing a hand to drag it down his body. Down towards the heat that's building. It's dirty and obscene and he doesn't give a fuck as he becomes single minded in one goal.

“Come with me,” Haxus growls in his ear, quickly being led by away.

Everything whirls, blurs into one continuous line as his sluggish mind attempts to catch up. His back is slammed against a wall, tongue in his mouth and hands in his hair. There's pushing and panting, groping and swearing.

“Fuck you're hot,” gets muffled into his neck.

His body shakes violently, heat and indulgence flaring bright. He tries to catch a breath but the tongue lapping at his collarbone steals it. Hands are at his belt, the metal clink echoing within the stall of the bathroom.

“Been watching you all night.”

He gasps as teeth sink into his shoulder, the sharpness clearing a path through the haze just enough to question before all thoughts are destroyed by the tight squeeze around his base. The hand strokes him firm and rough as the man in front of him drops to his knees.

“Been wanting to do this.”

His pants are pulled just enough to free his hardening cock, the guy wasting no time in swallowing him down.

“Haa - ahh,” Keith cries, trying to keep quiet and biting his tongue. But the warm heat enveloping him is intoxicating, pushing everything out of mind, every inhibition.

The man on his knees goes to work, tongue licking, mouth constricting, tight throat opening up and Keith can only grip into hair, knees getting weak underneath him. Steadily his noises grow louder, the uncoiling, insistent pressure building in his gut, cock throbbing almost painfully as he gets there.

Everything spins, everything tilts, he's on the brink and slipping down the wall, struggling to stay upright. Somewhere in the distance the music swells then dies with the click of a door. He doesn't register it. Not when he’s so deep in heat there's a nose pressed to his stomach.

Clutching harder into that hair his vision clears for just a moment, just enough for his mind to play tricks. To think in the briefest flash that head bobbing relentlessly down his cock might belong to...

“La-an-aahhh.”

He catches himself at the last minute but it’s just enough to push him over the edge. Just enough to have his eyes squeezing tight against the burst of colours exploding against a black backdrop. Head thrown back, whole body twitching, he's nothing but sensation. Nothing but waves and endorphins and fire.

It's not until the guy gets up to tuck him back in that he comes down. Something closer to nausea than afterglow sweeping through him. Inwardly he cringes at the smirk in front him, the guy - Hanson? - suddenly not as appealing as before.

He follows him out of the stall, heart sinking and stomach plummeting when he realizes they're not alone. Because of course it's Lance, of all people, who’s been there for who knows how long, standing furiously by the sinks. The man he’d imagined only moments ago staring at him heatedly, but not in any way he's ever hoped. Sobriety instantly feels like a non issue.

“What did you do?” The words are hissed, the venom in them stinging Keith like a physical slap across the face. 

Steps freeze for a second before his own indignant anger flares bright. Because really-

“What do you care?” he seethes, pushing past Lance to purge the sleazy sweat from his skin, wash it away.

Hovering uncertainly near the door, his hook up watches them like the fascinating train wreck that they are.

“How could you?” Lance asks, voice wavering. “How could you do that after-”

“After what?” Keith cuts in, Lance having no right to the hurt in his tone. “After I forced myself on you? After you rejected me?”

Lance stares him down, shoulders heaving from the angry breaths he's sucking down. 

“So I'll just... wait outside then,” the guy speaks in the background, eyeing them before slipping out to no one's attention.

Keith continues. “Or how about after you ran off to flirt with any woman who’d talk to you?” 

His voice breaks, anger quickly turning back to anguish. He has to stop himself from choking on a sob.

“Keith.” Lance’s voice suddenly goes soft, head bowed to the floor. “This is wrong.” 

The position looks cowed but he can still feel the heat rolling off him. Even if his words don't make sense.

“What?”

“Us - what you just did with that man. It's… not right.”

Keith hesitates, his heart fracturing. Is this how Lance actually feels?

“It is,” he almost pleads. “Lance, it is right.” 

He moves closer, desperate to save this, to make Lance understand. “It’s accepted here. We wouldn't have to hide. We could-”

Lance's eyes snap up to him once more, voice harder than before, words sharp. “It's immoral and indecent and I won't lower myself to that.”

“To that?” Keith echoes incredulous, shocked. But then rage surges forth again, breaking through in a torrent rush as his meaning sinks in.

“You mean you won't lower yourself to _my_ level? I'm _gay_ Lance. I like men and there's nothing indecent about it, so you can fuck off.” He stalks up to Lance, shaking in anger, getting in his face. “At least I know what I want. At least I wasn't afraid to go after it.”

“I know what I want,” Lance shouts back. Fisting a hand in Keith’s shirt and pulling him close. “And it's not you!” 

He loses his breath, all the air sucked out in one hit. Chest clenching and wide eyes stinging, all he can do is stare.

If Keith could pinpoint the moment his heart shatters it would be now. Looking into those intense, angry blue eyes, those eyes that pierce straight into his soul, and seeing nothing but hatred. 

Hatred aimed towards him. 

The bottom of his stomach drops out and he wrenches himself away from Lance, stumbling as fast as he can for the door. He can’t breathe, can’t think, all he knows is that he needs to get away. 

His head pounds and his vision starts to go black as he makes his way unsteadily across the dance floor. The bass thumping, reverberating through his body and blocking the sound of his name being called from his ears. He thinks he might be sick. 

A sudden wave of vertigo hits so intense he drops to his knees, hands clutching his aching head. It all hits at once, the lights too bright, the music too loud and then the all too familiar pull from his core begins to take over. 

Shit, shit, _shit._

He’s timing. 

He’s drunk and heartbroken, falling apart in a million pieces and he’s _fucking timing out._

He can feel himself being ripped from this time, everything a hundred times worse thanks to his mental torture. Panicked and desperate he lifts his face, searching for someone, something, anything to keep him in time. He can’t time out now, he can't do it, he can't - 

“Keith!” 

It’s faint but he’s sure he hears it. The place around him spins, sucked into the whirlpool of lights being pulled with him. 

“Keith!” 

It’s louder this time, the terror in that voice matching his own. 

“L-la-” 

He tries to choke out the name but already he's fading. Dissolving from this time entirely, with the horrifying premonition of where he might end up. 

Just before he’s ripped away he finally catches the source of his name. Those unmistakable blue eyes wide in fear. He’s too far away. Keith can’t feel him anymore. Lost the comforting presence that makes him feel safe with those final, brutal words. 

He doesn't want him. He never did. 

Keith is alone. Connection severed and torn to shreds. He knows Lance can feel it too, see’s it on his face in those last moments. 

He’s yanked out of time, Lance left watching, helpless. And the thing that kept them together, that protected them both is... 

Gone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at Lance, he is from 1891 after all.
> 
> And don't be mad at Keith either, yes he's an idiot but they both are.
> 
> Oh and _please, please_ don't be mad at me either  <3


	6. Cold

Cold. It's the first thing he registers when his body hits something soft and wet and _so fucking cold_. He’s knee deep in snow, the space around him so dark he can't see his own hands at his sides. Which is probably a good thing because he's going to be sick. Leaning to the side, body shaking with nausea, he retches. The pain, the drinks, the shock of it all emptying onto the snow beside him.

Sweat clings to him from the club, damp black t-shirt cooling rapidly, belt still hanging open and clanking against the zipper of his pants. With trembling hands he wipes his mouth, moving to click his belt in place and freezes, body tense as the realization that his utility belt is missing trickles like ice down his spine. Lost somewhere between shots at the bar and now.

Fuck.

He's so far in the middle of nowhere that absolutely no light reaches him, shivering in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt and _nothing else_ to help him out. He's totally and completely alone and Lance is…

The jagged hole in his chest clenches painfully at the reminder of bright blue eyes burning with rage. Bright blue eyes dismantling his heart and throwing it away like it never mattered. Like he could never be someone worth loving.

And yet he still can't help the fretful fear that bubbles up. Because he's not the only one stranded. Lance is too. Stuck in 2018 with no phone, in a new part of town and no one he knows nearby. What will he do? Does he even know anyone’s number?

He hates how much he cares.

Grabbing at the roots of his hair, head bowed against the hurt and terror ripping through the remains of his tattered nerves, he shivers. Almost yanks his hair right out but knows he has to keep himself together. Knows he can't afford to lose it. He’ll die out here if he doesn't find shelter.

Pushing back against the panic he tries to clear his mind and focus. It's still pitch black, not a star in the sky to navigate by. Tentatively he starts to shuffle forward, clumps of snow sticking to his pants in balls of ice. Hands outstretched and reaching, he moves this way slowly, quickly realizing just how fucked he is. There's trees, here and there but nothing to make a shelter with. If he'd had a shovel he could've dug one in the snow but wishful thinking won't get him anywhere.

The level of snow starts to recede the further he pushes into the forest until the trees are thick around him and the snow only reaches his ankles. Branches catch at his clothes, tangling into his hair in the dark. The frigid air cramps his muscles when a chilling sense of déjà vu washes over him. He leans against a trunk for support when a sudden piercing scream tears through the air. Blood running cold at the familiarity of that cry. A last guttural wail before all hope is lost. He knows this because he's heard it before.

Heart thudding against the cage of his ribs, his heavy limbs somehow push themselves through the thicket of trees, icy dread dragging him towards that sound.

He finds himself standing on a hill just as the moon splits through the thick layer of clouds shrouding the sky. Its bright light dancing across the white expanse of a valley below, dark, tangled trees lining the empty field. A flicker of movement at the edge of the tree line catches his eye, the breath in his throat stolen as he zeros in. 

A man bursts through the trees, dark hair covering his face as he stumbles, falling forward, rolling onto his back just in time for a huge, gray wolf to fly through the air, landing solidly against its target. A few more quickly join, circling their prey.

Keith stands motionless, so frozen in terror that he doesn't even realize he’s stopped breathing until his lungs start to burn and his vision blurs. Because he's seen this before, relived it so many times he thought he knew how horrifying it was. But now, at a distance like this, he can see it for what it really was.

He never had a chance. Even as the wolf above him clamps on to his arm, even as he watches himself fight tooth and nail, he never would have gotten away. The wolves around them would’ve finished him in seconds. He was dead, is less than a minute away from it now. The sickening crunch of his arm echoes all the way to his ears from across the valley, followed closely by his last desperate cry of fury and despair.

He knows he's going to make, standing on this hill now proof of that, but he's trapped in his mind. Transported back and witnessing his torture first hand once more. Seeing his mother’s face and wishing so desperately he'd never been a timer. Finally accepting his fate in a wave of overwhelming defeat. Everything inside him clenches with the pain.

Then, just as he knew it would, he watches as his younger self begins to fade and he's never seen this before, not from this perspective. Never seen the parts of himself disappear into nothing, until that's all that’s left.

Nothing.

The wolves don’t know what to do. _Keith_ doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the phantom tearing of teeth through his arm, the crushing weight of a hundred and eighty pound predator inches from his throat. In silent fear he’s fixed to the spot as the howling wolves scream their anger into the night. Then, lightening quick, the pack leader, the one with Keith’s blood still dripping from his jaws snaps it's head in his direction, the rest of them following suit. And in that moment he knows. They’ve got him now.

He's choking on air, on the pulse that's rocketing in his chest and hammering a frantic beat in his head. Except maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe the years of training but somehow the panic starts to dull. Even in his shock the cold shroud of action descends upon him. His ears focus on the sounds around him. His vision tunnelling towards the wolves prowling three hundred yards away. Single minded with one intent. This time he's going to fight.

With clarity he knows where he went wrong, would’ve been a fool not to teach himself afterwards. Slowly, almost calmly he begins to back up, edging back into the woods. Searching for a place to make his stand. The wolves yip their frenzied excitement as they stalk towards his perch, frightening in their speed. Stepping backwards as silent as he can, his back hits a tree, the trunk so wide it’s like a solid wall behind him.

Hopelessly he wishes for his utility belt, the air horn inside exactly what he needs but settles for his voice instead, shouting his threats as aggressively as he can, a statement, a warning. For a second the wolves falter but they don’t stop. Approaching now with more caution, less than a hundred yards away. Eyes searching, he tries to find something, anything to make himself bigger, more intimidating. Gangly tree branches dangle nearby, almost close enough to reach. He jumps, eyes never leaving the wolves, snapping a branch the length of his leg with one catch and fall.

He bangs it against the tree, wields it like a sword, continues to bark and howl, pumping adrenaline doing wonders at keeping his hysteria at bay. The trembling of his fingers hardly noticeable as he grips harder, nails digging into bark. Trying to stay calm, he focuses in on the main wolf, it's hackles raised while it eyes him back. Drawing up to his full height, pulling all his fear, all his anger, everything within him that just wants to _live_ , he screams.

“What are you waiting for?”

The rage of everything bursts forth, his lips curl into a snarl and he bares his teeth. Something dark and animalistic taking hold. He's been through too much shit in his life to have it end now. For two years these fuckers have haunted him. Stolen his sleep, his will, his goddamn _sanity_ and he has finally, _finally_ had enough. Enough of being scared. Enough of feeling lost. Enough of being a victim.

Lost in the fire that's wildly scorching through his flesh, he almost rushes towards them. Thighs tense, about to push off. About to make an extremely bad decision but his rational brain is nearly snuffed out. It's fight or flight and he refuses to keep running.

Clutching harder to his makeshift sword he takes one large, settling last breath, knees bending to spring when a distant howl cuts into their standoff. The wolves attentions jerk towards it, all heads snapping in the same direction. A couple take off immediately, the third nipping at the leaders flank when it doesn't follow at once. Snarling, it keeps its focus on Keith, hard eyes never leaving his body. It lifts a paw to step forward and Keith squares his shoulders, head held high and posture threatening. Another howl accompanies the first and this time the leader seems to have no choice. With teeth on display and a snap of its jaws it raises its muzzle to let out a piercing, answering call, turning at once and sprinting in the direction of the others. Not one look back at Keith.

Keith, who feels the shroud fall like heavy waves crashing down upon him. Who blinks but barely moves, unable to comprehend what just happened. Had he… actually survived?

The branch from his hands falls silently in his slackening grip. His Adam's apple bobs in a silent gulp, body now shaking so violently he falls against the tree, tearing his back as he scrapes down the side, vision gone black. Blood rushes through his ears and he doesn't realize he's stopped breathing until he's gasping for air, clawing at his throat to loosen. He tries to find purchase against the ground but can only come up with handfuls of snow. Pitching forward he buries his heated face in his frozen hands, sobs wracking his entire frame.

He doesn't know how long he stays, time standing still as the evaporating rush leaves him hollow. He can't feel his limbs, can't feel much of anything. All he knows is he’s empty, drained... alone.

He’s never felt so alone, even in those years spent in foster homes, invisible to its occupants. Even when there had been no one to turn to, he'd never felt it as acutely as he does now. Like when he’d first been torn from New Orleans, all those weeks ago when he felt that piece inside break off.

Now he knows what it was. Can feel it in his soul with undeniable conviction. His heart. Only a small piece, not enough to notice at the time but _now_ alone in this arctic landscape, connection severed, with no trace of Lance and his calming presence he can't lie to himself anymore. 

_He loves Lance_.

Probably loved him that very first time if the ache in his chest when he left was anything to go by. Coran knew, Shiro knew, hell even Pidge knew. And maybe Keith did too but he also knew it could never be. So he'd tried. God he'd tried _so hard_ not to feel it, not to give in and what had that done?

Nothing.

Because he's weak. Because now he’s pushed away the man he loves, drove him so far out of reach that the pulsing, empty cavern in his chest aches with his loss. And what was the point? Lance didn't love him. Would never love him. What had it all been for?

He can feel his will bleed out of him. His spark to keep fighting, to continue, dying out. And maybe it's the cold, the hypothermia that's no doubt setting in, but the idea of moving, of finding shelter just feels like _so_ much. _Too much_. It'd be easier just to lie down and wait. So he does. Curls up and lays in the snow, defeated and tired. So tired.

The unshed tears that form in his eyes freeze his eyelashes. The shaking in his body turns jerky and beyond his control just before it stops all together. Breathing is difficult but his heart weakly pounds on. He marvels at the fact it works at all, broken as it is.

An image of Lance flashes before his eyes, stealing what little air his lungs had left. He's beautiful, of course. The most beautiful man he's ever seen but there's something wrong. There's a fear in his eyes that Keith’s never seen, a terror so consuming that it's etched in every line across his dark face. His mouth forms words that Keith can't hear but they look urgent.

Mustering what little strength he has left he tries to reach out, instinct taking over. Suddenly it's like he's seized around the chest and jerked forward. Hard. A rushing, spinning wind catches him up. Sweeps him into a hurricane that’s almost like timing but infinitely worse. His skull breaks under the pressure, chest cracking wide open as he feels himself dissolve into the blinding white light that engulfs him.

The pain is like nothing else, it shoots through his body, flaying his skin to the bone and breaking him apart. A shocked scream tears through the air and he thinks it comes from him until searing hot hands are digging into his shoulders - and when did he become solid again?

“Keith!” gets shouted above him and he feebly tries to turn toward the sound because he knows that voice.

A dark figure tries to swim into focus, chocolate hair hanging in its eyes. Those searing hands gently cup his face and the figure sobs.

“Oh god.” Then louder, “Shiro! He needs help!”

Air hisses through his teeth and he wants to break away but the hands grasp a little tighter.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You're okay.”

The person above leans down and Keith sees the briefest flash of blue before he squeezes his eyes shut against the torment, the hurt that slashes his guts. A forehead gets pressed to his, an arm wraps under his shoulders.

“I'm here Keith,” Lance whispers. The lightest touch of lips against his temple, tears not belonging to him sliding across his face.

His head is swimming, darkness taking over. Keith knows it’s an illusion, one last vision before he’s gone and he can't believe the universe could be so cruel. Making him feel as though Lance would care. As he falls into the abyss he can hear Lance’s voice yelling for Shiro in panic and wonders why his mind would imagine something like that in his final moments.

 

* * *

 

Everything is dark when he starts coming to. Drifting, floating. Aimlessly along in a place of nothing. It's actually peaceful. Quiet. Until he starts to move and then it hits. Pain. So much _pain_. His entire body is raw, a live wire sparking at the slightest twitch. He groans, the sound scraping against vocal chords, too honest, too real. The light behind his swollen eyelids shifts and he realizes he's not alone.

He tries to go on high alert, willing his body to move but it's sedated and slow, like moving through quicksand. He groans again, this time in frustration.

“Keith?” a deep voice speaks beside him. “Can you hear me?”

A strong hand grasps his own, another landing heavy on his shoulder and he almost cries in relief at the flooding sense of security that comes with it. Shiro.

Slowly he tries to peel his eyes apart, eyelashes clumped together and painfully ripping. A whimper escapes his lips unbidden.

“Hey it's alright.” Shiro squeezes harder into hand and shoulder, reassuring.

Steadily the room comes into focus with the blinking of his eyes. His mind catching up with sight. Immediately he recognizes the beige walls and exposed ceiling of Altea Institute, having spent more time in the hospital wing than he’s cared for. This time however it's nothing but sweet solace to his battered body.

He moves his gaze to Shiro’s bulking form, settling on the concerned grey eyes staring back at him. When he tries to sit up Shiro pushes against his chest firmly, keeping him down.

“Don't move just yet.” 

When Keith lets out a huff of protest it cracks a small grin across Shiro’s face.

“How are you feeling?”

It's a loaded question. There's a million answers Keith could give but he aims for the one that sums it all up.

“Like shit.”

They're barely words at all, more like a gravelly jumble of syllables. The hot, dry stickiness of his mouth making it impossible to speak. Shiro seems to understand him anyway, both what he says and what he needs, bringing a glass of water from the bedside table to Keith’s lips. Cupping and lifting the back of his head to help him drink. The coolness seeping down his throat is soothing. He clears it and tries to speak again.

“H-how-?”

“How did you end up here?”

Keith nods.

“Rover.”

“It works? That’s...” Keith tries to piece it together. The feeling of being forcefully thrown through time. How his entire body seemed to protest against it. He shivers minutely, too small for Shiro to notice.

“More or less,” Shiro says with a flat press of his lips, looking past him to stare at the wall. “Pidge can explain it better than me but we were watching your vitals through TimerTracker and they were high and in distress but Rover didn't work at first. And then your heart rate just started getting slower and slower. We were desperate, we tried-” Shiro cuts off at that, eyes still on the wall.

Keith gets the impression he's hiding something, or at the very least avoiding it, but Shiro is quick to speak again.

“What happened to you?”

Again Keith’s not entirely sure what part Shiro is actually referring to but everything leading up to timing is still too tender, too agonizing to even think about, so he skips it over. Allowing himself just a moment to pretend it never happened.

“I timed back to the wolves.” 

The effect is instantaneous. Shiro's fingers grip reflexively harder into his hand, his whole frame jerking as his eyes go wide. “What?”

Shiro's eyes roam over Keith, looking for injuries he might have missed.

“I'm okay,” Keith reassures. “Something distracted them.”

Beside him Shiro visibly relaxes, dropping down into the chair beside his bed, never releasing Keith's hand. It feels safe and warm, a feeling so lost to Keith the sudden reappearance stings his eyes. He forces himself through it.

“It was night though and freezing. I didn’t have anything with me, I couldn’t make a shelter. I think the shock was too much, I just kind of… shut down.”

Shiro bows his head, as if he had personally failed Keith somehow. “You had hypothermia, you _were_ shutting down.” Looking down at their clasped hands Shiro lifts them up for Keith to see. “Frostbite too. A little on your fingers and ears.”

Keith looks at the tips of his fingers, the skin shiny and red, a couple blisters forming. They feel stiff, the skin pulled tight. Much like the rest of his body.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Shiro asks. “Going through that again - it couldn’t have been easy.”

Lifting his gaze to the ceiling Keith thinks about it. As terrifying as it had been at the time it’s not the thing that haunts him now, playing though his mind on repeat. The wolves aren’t the reason he feels like there’s nothing good left for him. Like all the light has been sucked away, replaced by a heavy, bleak veil.

“Yeah it’s - I’m okay,” Keith answers. Voice hesitant and scratchy.

Looking completely unconvinced Shiro sighs, ever so slightly. He looks like he’s about to say something more when he shakes his head, rising from his seat instead.

“I should probably get Coran. He’ll want to check you out now that you’re awake.” The comforting hand is back on his shoulder, the one in his hand falling away as Shiro moves to the door. “Get some rest okay.”

Keith nods again, head sinking further into the pillow as Shiro leaves. He closes his eyes and feels his throbbing wounds, futilely trying not to think about why it hurts so much. Even as he tries to throw it away he can’t shake the feeling that Lance is somehow nearby. But as the way Lance looked at him in the bathroom of that club flashes through his mind he knows it’s impossible. He doesn’t think Lance will ever want to see him again.

 

* * *

 

The next day he’s woken again by someone at his bedside. After examining him the night before Coran had given him a conditional green light.

“Everything looks to be recovering nicely but I want you to stay overnight.”

When Keith had groaned Coran gave him a look that almost seemed like he was actively fighting an eye roll.

“Come now, it’s not that bad here. Meals three times a day, a warm bed and private bathroom, visitors.” He counts them on his fingers. “I’m sure Pidge will stop by to keep you company.”

Keith had doubted that last part, his friend probably up to her eyeballs in data from Rover’s recent success, but now opening his eyes he’s surprised to find Pidge curled into the chair by his bed, looking small.

“Uh, hi?” Keith says, sitting up and more than a little confused by her timid manner.

She doesn’t say anything, just bites her lip, her eyes on his face wide and glistening.

Clearing his throat he tries again. “Is everything alri-”

He’s cut off as Pidge launches herself up and out of the chair. Flopping her upper body against his own, head tucked under his chin and arms clamping around his sides in a tight embrace.

“Whoa,” he wheezes, squirming to free his arms from her grasp so he can wrap them around her.

Awkwardly he pets the top of her head. He’s never really been good with the emotions of others and Pidge rarely pushed hers on him. Another thing he’d always felt bad about, her feeling like they might be a burden to him. They never were, he just couldn’t find a way to properly explain that to her. But now she’s shaking a little in his arms, sniffing loudly into the room, so he presses her closer, resting his cheek on the top of her head. It’s not long before she pulls away.

“W-we were so worried about you. Shiro told me where you went. Don’t do that again, we were almost too late! You could’ve -” She bites her lip again.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, looking down. Away from the hurt that’s so plainly written on her face. “It’s not like I meant to go.”

Again he feels the shame of timing so uncontrollably. All his life he’s caused those he loves pain, and all because of his timing. His mom, Pidge, Shiro… All because he’s too useless to figure it out.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just… you really scared me. I didn’t think Rover was going to work, I thought we were going to lose you.”

Grabbing onto her arm he tucks his legs up the bed and makes room for Pidge to settle more comfortably there next to him. Light comes through the open blinds, sending bands of shadows throughout the room, striping up Pidge’s body.

“But Rover did work,” he says gently. “How did you do it?”

“When Shiro called and said you’d timed and your vitals were off the charts I told them to meet me at Altea, I’d been working on Rover earlier in the day and was so sure he’d work. But then I put in your info and it was just.... nothing.” She looks down at her hands hanging limply in her lap, shoulders hunched inward. “Rover couldn’t find you, he couldn’t latch on to your signature no matter what I did.”

Keith’s mouth is dry when he asks, “so what changed?”

Looking up at him again their eyes meet. “Lance.”

It’s like all the air freezes in his lungs. His breath catches and he feels the blood drain from his face. Lance was there? Pidge notices his reaction, looking at him with growing concern.

“He kept saying you were in trouble, that we had to do something but I didn’t know what. He was so upset he grabbed onto Rover and it just suddenly lit up. Like it was shaking and pouring out data like crazy.”

Keith’s eyes are wide, almost horrified as he listens.

“He was acting like some sort of conduit, amplifying and fine tuning Rover towards you. So I hooked him up.”

“Hooked him up?”

“I tapped into his neuropathways, he seemed to know where you were so I asked him to concentrate and try find you.” Beside him she’s not looking much better than he feels, the shock of everything that happened just as apparent across her own face. Keith watches as she digs her fingers into her thigh. “I don’t know what happened next. One minute I’m hooking him up and the next you’re there on the floor, frozen and unconscious.”

He wants to reach out to her, to comfort her somehow but he’s too confused, too stunned. Brain shut down and clearly not processing any of it. The only sign he’s comprehending anything at all shown in the slight shaking of his fingers against the bed sheets.

“Keith,” Pidge looks up at him, her hazel eyes imploring, almost pained. “Tell me what happened.”

“I-” his voice falters. “...I...” Nothing comes out.

She watches him struggle a second before taking pity, landing a hand lightly on his own. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Then she’s slumping back into him, head back against his chest as he allows himself the small reprieve, leaning into her warmth. But he can’t shut down his thoughts as they bounce frantically inside his skull. An ache blooming into focus, felt all the way down to his microscopic cells. A yearning so dominate he can’t think of anything else.

Like reading his mind Pidge asks the one thing that cuts the most. “Have you seen him yet?”

They both know who she means, there’s no point pretending.

“No.” It burns. Rejection felt all over again. If Lance had cared, even a little, he would’ve been here by now. Right? “I don't think he wants to see me.”

“Are you crazy? Keith, you have no idea. I think maybe he's just afraid.”

An involuntary noise escapes him, closer to a sob than a scoff. The pain in it giving him away more than words ever could. Pidge lifts her face to look him in the eye.

“He is,” she insists. “He was so scared Keith. Said it was his fault.”

Keith tries to look away but she grabs onto his face.

“He’s just afraid. That’s all.”

Lower lip trembling he widens his eyes against the tell tale prickling.

“I know he cares.”

The intensity of her gaze is almost too much, like everything that’s happened in the last 72 hours. He wants to retreat. To hide under the covers locked in the fetal position. Possibly forever.

“And if I'm wrong I'll send him home myself.”

Eyes widening further in shock he whispers. “You could do that?”

“I think so.” Searching his face, she tries to decipher his expression. “With all the data Rover got it should actually be pretty easy.”

A thousand emotions run through him at once, none of them relief. But if Lance could go home, without him? Maybe it would be better for everyone.

Thin arms wrap themselves around him once more as Pidge pulls him in for another hug. This time his head drops to her shoulder, hunching forward to protect what’s left of his heart.

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Pidge whispers in his ear, caring and earnest.

Closing his eyes, he quietly wishes that he could feel the same.

 

* * *

 

Pidge had stayed awhile, long enough for Keith to muster up his remaining courage and pull himself together. He didn’t mean to fall back asleep, having spent the greater part of his stay at Altea in bed but he must have drifted because he was suddenly jerking to at the sound of a quiet knock at the door. Wondering who would even bother with knocking he clears his throat, calls to whomever it is to come in.

As it did at just the mention of his name, Keith’s breath rushes out with an agonizing punch to his gut when the downcast eyes of Lance’s face appears in the doorway. Thorns pierce him from inside when those blue eyes slowly raise to meet his own, as captivating now as they were in the dimly lit storage room of 1891.

Lance looks terrible. So heart wrenchingly, impossibly prepossessing, even though he looks like shit. It has Keith closing his eyes, breath shaking in his airways as he tries to swallow against the rising nausea. Literally heart sick.

The purple bruising under Lance’s eyes looks almost painful, like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s dishelved, grooves deeply lined between his brows and around his mouth. He’s grimacing before he’s even said a word.

Keith’s too afraid to speak. Too afraid to hear the hate and revulsion that’s probably hiding just behind those lips that are pressed firmly together. It's not long before they're parting to break the silence.

“Y-you’re awake,” Lance says, lamely. Ducking his head as he steps a little further into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Shocked. That’s what Keith’s feeling. Eyes flashing open to stare at Lance with uncomprehending hesitancy, not really sure what to do.

“I’m fine,” he lies. Fixing his gaze to the space above Lance’s head, unable to look at him for too long without grief swelling within him.

“That’s… good.”

Lance moves towards Keith’s bed, as if making his way towards the chair beside him. Stalling when he sees Keith flinch as he gets closer. He stops dead in his tracks, hands clenching into fists that he tries to hide behind his back.

“I’ve, ah, come to take you home.”

The very walls of the room seem to scream Keith’s agony back at him. Hearing those words fall from Lance’s lips, quiet and pained as they are flaring something deep in the hidden parts of his wasted hope. In a place he thought had long since been crushed. He feels the suffocating smother now.

“Oh.” It’s small and broken, just like Keith.

Silence ticks by, Keith barely holding on, looking everywhere but at the devastating vision of Lance before him. He can’t take this. Having Lance so close to him, knowing how he hates him, knowing they can never be anything that they once were.

“Keith I-”

“I think you should go back.” He puts it out there, has to say it now. Forces himself to lift his gaze, to meet Lance’s eyes dead on. “Pidge thinks she's found a way.”

Lance is stock still, frozen and unmoving, expression muted. The weary ache in Keith twinges at the loss of how those bright blue eyes usually sparkle. The dull sheen of them haunting in their emptiness. 

“Do you-” Lance deflates, looking worn and tired, resigned. “Is that what you want?”

No. “Yes.”

Lance closes his eyes. A deep breath, shaking his shoulders. When he speaks again it’s quiet, beaten. “If that’s what you wish.”

It's not but Keith tells himself it's what he needs. 

“Will you at least allow me to accompany you home? I can gather my things and lodge with Hunk until arrangements can be made.”

It’s so clinical, so formal. So _final_. Keith can only nod as his despair swallows him whole.

“Alright, I shall wait outside then.”

Then he’s quickly walking away, retreating as Keith feels walls between them rise and solidify. An unscalable barrier. Lance stops at the doorway, presumably to look back but Keith's already turning the other way, curling into himself. It's quiet for so long that Keith thinks he's left. He's breathing heavily, trying to fight against the tears he knows are coming when it reaches his ears.

“I'm so sorry Keith.”

It's whispered, soft enough that Keith can pretend he didn't hear it all. Which is exactly what he does.

 

* * *

 

The car ride home is deathly quiet. Hunk looking increasingly uncomfortable in the driver's seat while Lance fidgets in the one beside him. Keith’s in the back, legs folded up against his chest, cheek resting against the thawing glass of the window. If he'd had any pride left he might've tried to sit taller. But he's tired and worn.

The cityscape that passes by looks cold and empty. It's more to do with the fact that it's nighttime in the dead of winter but Keith’s emo brain can't help but find the whole thing fitting. The night that he and Lance had walked to the grocery store must have been similar to this but he'd never felt it's desolation. Not with Lance warm beside him, Keith safely folded into his scarf. He shuts his eyes against the painful reminder.

It doesn't take long for Lance to find his things. Though he’s been there for weeks he hasn't amassed much of his own. Had this always been so temporary to him?

Keith sits on the couch watching it happen. Trying to convince himself he doesn't burn with every piece of Lance that gets packed away. When the air matress starts to deflate it all becomes too much.

He paces the kitchen on the pretense of cleaning, eyes avoiding the sink where the memory of dancing and doing dishes together plays out around him. If Lance doesn't leave soon he's convinced he’ll go crazy. Or maybe it's the other way around.

When Lance and Hunk join him in the kitchen, solemn and quiet, he's worn tracks in the linoleum. Hunk clears his throat, looking between the two men trying hard not to look at one another and sighs, walking to Keith and patting a hand between his shoulder blades.

“It's good to have you back man.”

Keith can't look up, the pity disguised as tenderness glaringly obvious. So he jerks his head in a sad semblance of a nod.

“I’ll just take this stuff down to the car.”

The kitchen belongs now to just Lance and Keith. The soft click of the door behind Hunk’s back sealing them in. Painful silence seeping into every crevice of the apartment. Keith feels the need to yell. To cry or throw fists or maybe fight the world. He doesn't do any of it though. Just stares hard at the floor, hyper aware of every shuffle the beautiful man still in that tiny room makes.

“Keith.” Lance tries, stepping towards him. It has him backing up instinctively.

“ _Keith._ ” Lance tries again, sounding desperate. Enough that he chances a look up, instantly regretting it when he sees the torment in his hurting blue eyes. “I cannot leave like this. Not after everything that’s happened between us.”

Looking away, he sways where he stands. _Us_. “Please Lance.”

“Not before I tell you how wretchedly sorry I am.”

For the second time that day Keith flinches away, wrapping his arms tight around his middle, shielding the most tender parts.

“What I said to you,” he can hear Lance gulp. “There is no condoning my words, nothing to take them away, but I was wrong. I did not mean-”

“Stop, please,” Keith gasps, head swimming in the grit of Lance’s voice.

“ _Please_ Keith, you must know that I-”

“Lance, stop.” He raises his voice, firmer this time.

“No. I can't leave here having you think-”

“Enough!” He shouts, chest heaving as though he’d run a marathon. Lungs burning with the same ache. “Don't make this harder.”

He’s looking at Lance again, watching as the shock on his face morphs into frustration and Lance growls. “You are the one making this harder by not letting me speak.”

But Lance has already taken so much from him there's barely anything left. How can he ask this of him? He takes a breath, running a hand through his messy hair. If there's nothing left then there's nothing more to lose. Right?

In front of him Lance steadies himself, determined eyes set as he takes yet another a step towards him, this time slower.

“I was upset. What you did it… it hurt.”

And for a moment Keith can see that hurt, in the subtle tremor of his breath, in the way he briefly closes his eyes. Keith doesn't want to admit it but it hurts him too.

“But it's no excuse. I don't feel that way it's just - you have to understand, where I'm from sodomy is illegal. People are put to death for it. But still I- ” Lance moves closer still, maintaining eye contact as he does. “I don't think those things about you.”

Keith licks his lips, heart rate spiking with every tentative step. Entranced by those swirling blue irises.

“And I lied to you. About what I want. I've just been too afraid to admit it.”

Lance is close now. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see the trembling of his right hand. Getting even closer because Keith has stopped working, mind not computing.

“I think...” Lance whispers, lifting that shaky hand up to Keith’s face, tenderly brushing the backs of his fingers against his cheek. “I might have feelings for you.”

Then he's leaning in, soft lips getting perilously close, half lidded eyes waiting for Keith’s reaction. And Keith? He should be elated, his heart should be soaring. But instead of butterflies it's terror that comes fluttering up. Because he's had this before. For a tiny second he had this and it was sweet and passionate and _everything_. And then he lost it. Feels the pain of it in every laboured breath and he just can't do it. He can't have it and then lose it _again_.

“Stop,” he says, hands up between them to keep Lance from closing those last few inches. “Please don't.”

The hurt flashes back to Lances face. This time so deep and so profound that Keith has to turn away, bracing his hands on the countertop a few feet behind, head bowed and shaking.

“Keith.” Lance’s straining voice sounds as broken as Keith feels.

“I can't Lance.”

“Why not?”

Not looking back Keith presses a hand to his fevered forehead, trying to drown the voices in his head. Ignoring every one that tells him not to do this.

“I can't be some experiment, I'm not here to see if you're okay with liking men.”

“That's not what I-”

“What happens to _me_ Lance?” He slams his hand down spinning on the spot, some last vestige of self preservation making its final stand. “What happens tomorrow when you wake up feeling sick with yourself? What happens when you can't get past it?”

“I don't think-”

“I _can't_ do this Lance.” His knees are starting shake, his head feeling lighter. He's not even aware of what he's saying anymore, all he knows is that he _needs_ Lance to leave. “I listened okay? I let you speak. Now. _Please. Go._.”

“I don't want to lose you.”

Lance whispers it haltingly, fighting back tears. Keith can see the pools beginning to form, knows they're in his own eyes too. He's just holding it together, the strength in his legs waning with every millisecond that goes by. He shuts his eyes, unable to stop the waver of his voice when he whispers back.

“Go.”

He keeps his eyes closed, unable to watch Lance turn away from him a second time, even if this time it's his own doing. Because Lance doesn't hate him at all. Lance _wants_ to try and he's _still_ pushing him away. But he knows. _He knows_ Lance could never be okay with them. There's nothing that remarkable about Keith. Nothing that could make it okay.

He’d never be able to keep him and that's what hurts most of all.

Hurts so much he sinks to his knees as tears finally break free. Salt streaming down his face in an endless torrent that leaves him choking, convulsing into the floor against the heartbreak that fissures through him. Cracking him open and leaving only a barren shell. There had been more to lose afterall. It’d been easier thinking Lance didn't want him. But now, as he struggles and fails to pick himself up, there truly is nothing left.

 

* * *

 

The light stings his puffy eyes in the morning. So much that he buries himself under the comforter, miraculously making it to his bed sometime in the night. It's mostly a haze of pity and self loathing. A sinking pit he can't begin to climb out of. Distantly his phone pings with another notification, the irritating chimes continuously waking him up but he's been too stiff to move. It's the knowledge that Shiro will break through his door if he doesn't answer soon that makes him finally get up.

But besides a couple texts from the man checking in they're all from Pidge. Panicked and worried when Lance contacted her asking to go home. Apparently he's trying to leave as soon as he can. Keith doesn't blame him. There's nothing for him here. Morbid curiosity gets the better of him as he moves his thumbs slow and throbbing across the screen.

**Outgoing Text: Pidge**

_When are you doing it?_

**He wants to try tonight**  
**Are you sure this is what you want?**

_Just do it please_

**Will you even be here to say goodbye?**

_I don't know_

**Well you should be. Come at 5 okay?**

He doesn't even respond. The idea of being there, of watching Lance fade completely out of his life is… not bearable. But now that's it there it's impossible not to think about. A constant void inside his shredded chest, that missing piece he’ll never get back. He contemplates staying hidden in his nest of blankets all day but the stale smell of tears and misery coats him like a second skin. 

Fumbling his way to the bathroom he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Tired, dead eyes impassively appraising. Dark circles underneath, thin chapped lips pulled tight, black hair a tangled mess that halos around his head. He can't remember ever looking this bad, but then again it's been awhile since he's felt this bad. If he even has before. 

The shower helps. Water turned high, almost to scalding as it cascades over his pale flesh, turning it red and splotchy in the heat. He uses it as a temporary distraction, taking his mind away from the way he burns inside. Scrubbing his failures from his skin until he's raw and shiny, until all the water runs cold. 

Back in front of the mirror he drags a brush through his hair until it's somewhat tamed, wet bits sticking to his neck and forehead. It's when he's brushing his teeth that he decides this is it. This is him washing it all away. He's been through worse than this and it hasn't killed him yet, he'll be damned if he lets some guy be his downfall. 

His pep talk carries him to the kitchen, going strong as he fishes for something to eat amongst his cupboards. Keeping him buoyant as he grabs a cup to fill with water. He’s almost through his sandwich, determination still good when it comes grinding to a halt, his hand stopped mid drink. Because there in his hand is another reminder of the stranger he let into his heart. Grumpy cat stares back at him, the black lettered ‘NOPE’ speaking personally to Keith. Because nope, forgetting about Lance is not going to be that easy. Not when he's subconsciously using Lance’s cup. The one he used every morning since the very first one he spent here. 

It's enough to send him spiralling, back to the emotional wreck he was thirty minutes ago. The pressure in his guts squeezing tight, crushing and stabbing all at the same time. Another ping of his phone goes off but he's stuck to the table, rising tide of grief paralyzing his limbs. Clasping his aching head in his hands he lets out a shuddering breath, eyes sliding closed as he wonders how he's ever going to do this. He stays there for too long. Long enough for his hands to go numb and tingle with loss of blood flow. 

A sudden pounding at the door has him jerking upright, flinching against the way it echoes through the empty apartment. It’s urgent and intrusive. Cautiously he draws near, noticing how the wooden door vibrates in its frame at the force behind those knocks. Wondering why the hell Pidge can't leave well enough alone. So he's totally unprepared when it's Lance that pushes his way through as soon as the door cracks open. When it's Lance who stalks into the room like he's still welcome, aggressively standing in front of Keith and daring him to say something.

Blood boiling, he's almost alarmed at how quickly his anger rises at the sight of him but seriously, why is this man so determined to repeatedly rip out his heart?

“Lance what’re y-” he starts to growl but is quickly cut off.

“Seven.”

Why can't he - … ahh… _what?_ -Taking advantage of his stunned silence, Lance presses on.

“I was seven years old when I kissed my first boy. We were playing in the yard when I had a sudden urge to kiss him, so I did.”

Lance looks as awful as he did yesterday, maybe even worse when he flits his eyes to Keith’s to make sure he’s listening. He’s listening alright, staring at Lance and not even aware of how delicately he hangs on his words.

“Madame Ryner saw the whole thing and sent the boy home, fabricating a story that I was feverish and probably delirious. She made the boy promise not to tell anyone.”

Though he's looking towards Keith his eyes are far off, lost in the memory. “She told me to never do it again. Said that I would be hanged for such an offence because it was despicable and immoral and would bring shame on my family. But I wanted to be a good son so I did as I was told and ignored my desires whenever they arose, and _believe me_ they rose plenty, but I told myself the same things she told me that day.”

Not sure what to say, or if he's expected to say anything at all, Keith gets pulled closer into Lance’s orbit. As he approaches Lance’s eyes fall to the floor, ashamed.

“Women became a sort of conquest for me. I thought I could learn to enjoy it, that the more I had them the more I would.” He lifts his gaze back to Keith, impossibly blue eyes, wide and imploring. Takes a step that puts him right in front of Keith. “But none of them have _ever_ made me feel like you do.”

Keith sucks in a breath, a tremor starting in his fingers and traveling to his toes in a rush of electricity, running through him. Frantically he looks between Lance’s eyes, feeling cornered.

“I-” he tries to speak but the words die on his tongue.

“You're not the first Keith.” Lance gently takes his hand, pressing it flat against his chest, right above his madly beating heart. “You're not the first man I've ever wanted to be with. But I strongly believe you’ll be the last.”

Moving a little closer, Lance leans into his space. Keith feeling his resolve from yesterday teeter on the edge, dangerously close to crumbling.

“I can't let you go,” Lance whispers, his sweet, intoxicating breath smoothing across Keith's face. “There's no one else I'll ever love.”

A strangled noise escapes Keith's mouth. Something like a garbled version of Lance’s name trying to eek out.

“I - I…”

“ _Please Keith_.” Their lips are close, Lance’s mouth hovering just in front, desire sparking at the near touch. “Let me show you.”

All it takes is the twisting of his fingers in Lance’s shirt for Lance to surge forward, bringing their lips together in smooth, firm conviction. Pouring himself into the kiss Lance cups his jaw gently, holding him reverently, a small moan of yearning slipping past. Those walls once between them crash against the hardwood floor as Keith's heart finally gets to soar.

Their lips move together in time, the soft persistence of Lance and the hand running lightly through his hair leaving no room for doubt. When Lance’s tongue runs the seam of his lips he parts them eagerly, tasting Lance’s devotion like honey, rich and pure.

Leaning back slightly, Lance speaks against him in a breathless plea, leaving Keith trembling. “Keith,” Lance begs. “Please say you'll be mine.”

Without hesitation or any lingering reserve Keith whispers back, “I think I already am.”

It has Lance backing him against the door, the lean lines of his body pressing into him at every possible contact. Keith connects their lips once more, dipping his tongue into Lance’s mouth in a swirl of heated desire. Another groan, this time from Keith, spills forth when he feels the push of Lance's growing arousal against his hip, his own not far behind.

He lets his hands wander, tracing over the planes of Lance’s back, smoothing them against his shoulder blades. Lance's hands move as well, one still buried in his hair and the other running along the bottom of his shirt, fingertips just teasing the flushed skin underneath. With a sharp tug at his scalp and a roll of Lance's hips, Keith breaks away in a gasp, head thudding lightly against the door. Wet, open mouthed kisses travel along his jaw, the sensitive skin of his neck scraped by teeth carefully biting down. It leaves Keith a vibrating mess suddenly nervous of where this is heading, worried they might be moving too fast.

“Lance,” he sighs, spreading his thighs for said man’s insistent knee to slot between, moaning when he presses up against his erection. Delicious friction tingling up his spine.

“Keith,” Lance answers, finally slipping his hand underneath Keith’s shirt to glide over tightening abdominals.

“M-maybe we should slow - _ah_ \- do-wn.”

Lance pulls back in an instant, black pupils blown wide and pretty dark cheeks pink. “I have had enough of slow,” he says through laboured breaths. “But if that is what you want.”

Though Lance’s head remains still his hands haven’t stopped moving, inching their way higher to brush across a nipple, a smirk tugging at his lips at the soft whimper Keith makes. Voice temporarily gone Keith shakes his head in time for Lance to dive back in, tugging Keith’s shirt down to expose his collarbone for damp lips to kiss.

“Good,” gets muffled against his skin and Keith grinds down against Lance’s knee, causing both men to wantonly groan together.

Another rolling of hips has Keith’s vision going spotty, a fuzzy spin in his head, high on oxytocin. He’s dimly aware of his growing need to make this good. To have Lance begging and gasping, pushed past breaking and wanting more. Getting Lance off becomes priority number one and he knows he doesn’t want it happening against his front door. So he breaks away, grabbing Lance’s wrist to bring him down the hall. It starts out fine until Lance wraps an arm around his waist, pressing against his back, sweeping his hair to the side to attach lips and lick down his neck. They may or may not stumble into a wall or two, honestly Keith’s not really aware of anything but Lance’s warm hands and burning mouth.

When they make it to the bedroom Keith turns in Lance’s arms pushing him down into the mattress and climbing on top to keep control. Lance growls when he swivels his hips down, trying to grab at the buttons of Keith’s jeans but he’s too hunched over. Instead he settles for cupping Keith’s cock over clothes, biting his lip when Keith jerks into the touch. But Keith has other plans so he kisses Lance open and sloppy before starting to glide down, sure to rub their bodies together as his hands ruck up Lance’s shirt.

He nips and sucks along hard, flexing muscles. Returning the favour when he flicks Lance’s nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking the small brown peak into his mouth. Lance arches his back beautifully underneath him, gasp hissing past his teeth. As he laves his tongue across Lance’s abdomen his hands drop to pants, fingers making quick work of the zipper before he lifts his face to watch Lance’s expression as he slowly slides them off.

Lance stares back in craving and something more. Something softer. Keith feels the stutter of his heart before he allows his attention to drift down, eager to see the moment Lance’s cock springs free from the boxers he’s now tugging down. It pops up in eager hardness, has Keith reaching to grasp it before he even has a plan. He gives an experimental tug, more of a fascinating reverence than a genuine stroke but Lance moans out all the same.

“Keith.”

He looks up again at his name, caressing more earnestly with the way Lance squirms under his hand. Lance is gorgeous like this, hair tousled, swollen lips parted and face showing nothing but pleasure. Keith speeds up his hand just to hear Lance speak again.

“Please,” Lance begs. For what Keith’s not sure but he’s licking his lips and lowering his mouth because it’s what _he’s_ been wanting to do since they left the living room.

He holds firm at Lance’s base, running the flat of his tongue up his entire length, before teasingly circling the dripping, pink head then slowly sinking down. As much as Keith would love to draw this out, he’s pretty sure the sight of Lance falling off the edge and the taste of his come is something he’d love even more. A hand lands on his head, gentle at first but curling further into his locks and pushing a little more urgent with every bob of his head.

Keith hasn’t spent much time fantasizing about this, about swallowing Lance’s cock but now that he’s here he knows it better than he would’ve imagined. Lance’s soft sounds filling the bedroom, the occasional _yes_ and _Keith_ breaking into the moans. It has Keith moaning himself, setting off a chain reaction as the vibrations work their way in Lance’s gut, a hand tightening in his hair to sets him off all over again. Lance’s hips are moving in tiny thrusts to the sliding of his mouth. He thinks about holding him down but likes the way Lance’s dick nudges further down his throat as the movements get larger. He grinds himself into the bed, chasing that friction and getting delirious at the sensation. The amount of pre come accumulates until he sinks as far as he can to swallow it down against the base, a violent tremor running through Lance as he gets there.

He’s just starting to suck a little harder when he’s pulled off of Lance by his bangs with a wet pop. The blue of Lance’s eyes completely gone as he roughly rasps out, “Need to see your face.”

Lance drags Keith up, shifting so they lay side by side, moving the hand in Keith’s hair to clutch at the side of his face. Keith keeps the momentum going, wrapping his hand back around Lance, jerking him to the pace he set before. Mouth popping open and breaths heavy Lance uses his other hand to pull at Keith’s jeans, eyes never leaving his. Keith helps him out by pushing the offending fabric down to release his throbbing cock. A hand tries to grab at him but it’s shaking and clumsy. Thrusting his hips forward Keith rubs himself against Lance, the smooth, slick surface feeling like silk against his burning skin. Lance keens into him, fingers digging into his cheek and whining.

“Like this?” Keith asks, panting against his building fervor. “Feel good?”

Removing his hand from between them, Lance brings it to the other side of Keith’s face, knocking their foreheads together.

“‘S good,” Lance breathes, eyes rolling back in his head. “So good.”

Encouraged Keith moves faster, holding both their lengths, the slide setting off explosions of ecstasy inside his solar plexus. Heat pulsing hotter, spreading to his limbs until he’s almost numb with it. Lance's breath puffs against his open mouth, hitching and cutting off little noises desperate to escape. Their cocks glide fluidly together, bringing them closer, spurring them on.

Keith’s so overcome with impossible lust that he latches on to Lance’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, licking against him, anything he can do just to _feel_. He's right there, on the brink, just needs a little more when a sudden hammer of passion burst from his chest but it’s not his own. It’s Lance’s. Everything he’s feeling magnified to a hundred because Lance is feeling it too. The want, the need, the _hunger_.

Their eyes fly open in unison, mouths pressed together but incapable of doing much as they come together in a white out of overwhelming euphoria. It floods through him, lifting him off the mattress and sending him skyward. He’s pretty sure he cries Lance’s name but he’s too spread out to know for sure. The intention is there and Lance shows he gets it by sliding his hands back into Keith’s hair, pressing his mouth to his ear so he can hear how Lance whispers his name like a prayer as they fall back to earth.

The come down is disorienting, Keith’s eyes falling closed when Lance’s head settles back on the pillow in front of him, noses brushing together. Head still spinning it takes him a moment to realize that Lance is speaking.

“I feel you again.”

Keith snorts before he can stop himself, breathless. “Yeah I felt you too.”

A soft puff of air ghosts along his lips. “You know what I mean.”

Opening his eyes he sees Lance watching him, sweat pasting messy hair to his forehead, eyes clearing but smile lazy in post orgasm. His hand moves on its own, gently brushing the hair around Lance’s temple.

“When you were gone, I couldn’t feel you anymore,” Lance whispers. “It was terrifying.”

As if to convince himself that Keith is really there Lance wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes tight, bringing their lips back together for a series of sweet, lingering kisses. Just as devout in their worship.

“I never want to feel like that again.”

Smiling to himself, Keith’s heart swells, almost to bursting at this point. Because Lance is there with him. In his bed and not an ounce of disgust or hatred to be found. Everything Keith had told himself in the dark of the Arctic untrue. Lance was there. Lance thought he was worth loving. Worth _keeping_. A feeling like no other, safe and warm, calm and sure all at once rolls through his body, seeping down to replace the aching sadness as though it was never there at all. Lance smiles in front of him, feeling for himself how Keith accepts his love. How he returns it.

They stay for some time, smiling at one another, stealing kisses and talking until a knock at the door that really is Pidge this time draws them out. Keith knows it’s a little extra to answer in just his sweats but when Lance pops his head around the corner it has Pidge punching his arm with an uttered, “fucking _finally_ ,” before leaving them alone just as Keith had wanted.

They order take out and watch a movie, hands rarely leaving each others bodies. Not to start anything more but just to touch. To revel in the knowledge that they finally can. When they go to bed Lance wraps Keith in his arms and presses his nose into his hair, whispering the praise he’d kept bottled up all this time. How beautiful he thinks Keith is, how kind and strong and amazing. Keith is a blushing, stuttering mess but it eases his soul like nothing ever has. And when he falls asleep it’s to the soft snores of Lance at his back and a warm hand pressed to his heart.

In the morning Lance is still there, never having moved from Keith’s side. Promising that if he can stay, he never will again.

 


	7. Smitten

Smitten. Enamoured. Infatuated. All words Keith’s never cared for. All words that do a pretty good job of describing him right now. Sitting in Coran’s office, cheeks burning so bright he could light up the room like a night light. All because he's just so fucking _in love_ , he literally doesn't know what to do with himself. And Lance is really just sitting there beside him, but with a look in his eyes so soft. It’s tender and unreserved and so goddamn adoring and Keith's just never felt anything like this before, okay.

It's a lot.

But, a good a lot.

He thinks.

He's still terrified though. Worried that one day Lance will tell him he can't do it anymore. That the backwards beliefs that'd been forced on him since childhood really can't be undone. Or worse still, that Lance truly has gotten over it, like he says he has, but that he won't be able to stay. That one day Keith will wake to an empty bed and know in his heart that Lance has been taken home. Unwillingly timed back to where he belongs.

It's why they sit in Coran’s office, the glittering reflection of city buildings sparkling through the open windows, dancing along bookshelves and filling the room. It's been weeks since Lance’s first visit here. Since they sat in painfully awkward silence while Coran hinted at a strong bond and sent them off for extensive testing. At this point the connection is irrefutable. Like a quiet buzz in the back of Keith’s skull, he feels Lance’s presence with every breath. The comfort and security still foreign to Keith, much like when it flourishes into something more when their feelings are heightened, emotions sizzling between them and giving each other away.

Lance shifts beside him, the scraping of metal legs startling him out of his panic. The chair gets pulled a little closer, Lance settling back in and taking Keith’s pale hand into his own. Humming lowly, Lance places a soft kiss against the network of veins across his wrist.

“Do not fret, whatever happens we will find a way.”

He means it to be soothing but it only takes Keith’s anxiety up another notch. Because finding a way means Lance doesn't belong here when everything inside him screams that he does. Finding a way means learning to live without the man that's shared his bed every night since he promised never to leave.

“But what if?”

“Hush. There's no use worrying until we have some answers.”

Keith huffs. Don’t worry? Of all the stupid -

“I'm sorry to keep you both waiting,” Coran says in a rush as he strides into the room towards his desk. A blur of orange facial hair gliding by.

Flustered, Keith snatches his hand back, an instinctive reaction that has Lance smirking at the red crawling up his neck. Coran notices the action as well, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Please, there’s no point hiding anything from me. I am your doctor after all,” he finishes with a wink.

Clearing his throat Keith repositions himself, leaning elbows on to his knees. “Coran why are we here? Is everything okay?”

The doctor sends him a patient smile before responding. “I’ve asked you both here today to discuss the results of Lance’s genetic testing. It came back this morning.”

Keith visibly tenses, heart catching in his throat and painfully squeezing until Lance’s hand reaches over to find his once more. Warm fingers press and tug, urging Keith to look over. Calm blue eyes hold his gaze, his tension melting with the pad of a thumb that begins to smooth across his skin.

“Lance what do you know of the origin of timers?” 

Coran’s words break their moment as Lance blinks to himself before turning to face the desk.

“Not much I’m afraid.”

“Well unfortunately you are not too far behind those of us that have been studying the phenomenon their entire careers.” Coran frowns to himself, back to twirling his moustache as he tends to do. “Timers began popping into existence sometime in the 1970’s. At first there was only a handful of people, no rhyme or reason to where they would go, no way to predict their movements or find similarities. As the years went by more began to appear and their children would usually inherit the trait as well.”

Though Keith knows the history by now he sits quietly enthralled, tracing over Lance’s expressions and feeling his heart flutter at the way Lance scrunches his eyebrows as he follows along. He has to fight the urge to lean into the man’s side and settles for rubbing his own small, soothing circles on the back of Lance’s hand.

“To this day the cause of it remains unknown but as the population of timers grew we were able to pinpoint what they had in common. It turned out they all had the same genetic defect. A mutated gene found on chromosome 14. The same one that you, yourself have.”

Lance silently gasps while Keith’s mouth actually drops open.

“It’s long been speculated that the defect may have originated sometime in the 18th or 19th century, spreading across the continents until some environmental factor triggered the gene and thus why it’s effects did not show up until the 70’s. I believe your bloodline may be the ancestor of the modern genetic defect.”

Beside him Lance seems to be at a loss for words, eyebrows still adorably scrunched.

“I-is that a good thing?” Keith asks cautiously, already trying to temper the frenzied hope that’s swelling within him.

Studying Lance intently Coran answers, “I believe so.”

Finally Lance lets out a breath, a tentative smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Unable to contain the warmth that’s spreading, Keith finds himself mirroring the movement.

“For whatever reason your encounters with Keith awoke the defect but your ability is still tied to Keith’s. At a closer look your defect is a tad different than the common one of today. I think that perhaps yours is more of a precursor and therefore requires the emotional bond between the two of you to allow your body to time.”

“So-” Lance’s voice cracks with surprise. “I’m actually a timer as well?” The awe and wonder on his face glows like an aura around him, a light, pale yellow.

“Yes.”

Coran pauses for a moment, allowing the men before him to absorb his words. As they sink in Keith can feel himself noticeably becoming lighter, all the weight, the worry, the mental anguish sloughing off to leave him shiny and new. Ready to face a world full of possibilities.

Lance’s tight grip around his hand starts to shake and Keith realizes that he’s laughing, quietly chuckling to himself. The sound setting his heart to flutter once more.

“He can stay?” Keith asks. Speaking to Coran but watching Lance the entire time, stunned by the beauty of his delight.

The words are feathery and weightless when they come. “I do believe he can.”

Relief so powerful, so all encompassing flies between them. Keith’s chest expanding until he’s sure he’s no longer on the ground, his entire body tingling in elation. The urge to touch again rises up and this time he does, leaning forward at the same time Lance moves too, taking Keith's cheek in the palm of his hand. They’re laughing again, both of their eyes swimming with joy and adoration.

“Of course you know what this means, right?”

Forgetting the other man was even in the room a sudden pang of worry shoots through Keith as his attention gets pulled to Coran. But he’s smiling mischievously, quirking an eyebrow when he replies. “More testing.”

Keith groans and Lance laughs beside him, dropping his hand to rest on Keith’s thigh.

“Coran my good man, you may do anything you like, so long as Keith and I have a moment together first.” Lance says it with an eyebrow wiggle that has Keith biting his lip and looking away embarrassed.

“Naturally.” Coran replies with a nod of his head. “I am most interested to see how your abilities progress. I may be getting ahead of myself but I wouldn’t be surprised if you begin to gain some control over timing yourself, perhaps even learning to time without Keith at all.”

The hypothesis makes Keith frown, the idea of Lance stuck somewhere in time without him pulling at all his protective strings. “You really think that’s possible?”

“I do, but we will have to see. We already know that you can time without Lance, though that was perhaps an extenuating circumstance. But don’t worry, with the way Lance was able to connect with you through Rover I also believe that given time you two will be able to find each other no matter the distance.”

Just like it did back when Coran confronted him about his feelings for Lance, Keith starts to sweat. The sheer magnitude of such a deep attachment triggering his instincts to push away, but Lance catches his eye. A gentle, reassuring smile and blue eyes reflecting a level of care and devotion Keith’s never seen turned towards him. He can’t help but feel it’s alluring pull. He wants to be loved, wants to be taken care of. He wants Lance to look at him like that forever.

“Okay I’ve taken up enough of your time. If you two would kindly report to the psychology lab we’ll begin your testing there.”

Hopping to his feet Lance extends his hand to Coran, the other man rising to meet him. “Thank you Coran, for everything.”

“Lance I should thanking you. You just might be the key to answering many of our questions.”

“It’s an honour.”

Lance turns to Keith, offering to pull him up. Keith takes his hand gently, feeling the pulse of Lance’s beating heart beneath his fingertips, a spark lighting between them. They hold each others gaze until Lance begins leading him away, stopping briefly when Coran clasps onto Keith’s shoulders.

“I’m happy for you Keith.” A proud, almost paternal smile lies upon the doctor’s face.

Ducking his head he quickly mumbles a thanks before he’s pulled through the door and immediately gathered into long arms, collected in a tight embrace against the increasing comfort of Lance’s body. A kiss ruffles his hair as a snort of laughter speaks in his ear.

“I can hardly believe it.”

Keith hums, allowing the moment, Lance’s voice, Lance’s bliss, just plain _Lance_ , wash over him. He’s pretty sure he’ll never get used to feeling this way.

“Keith,” Lance whispers, pulling back to cup Keith’s face with both hands, strong and possessive.

Eyes dropping and fingers moving of their own accord Keith gently touches his fingers to the pouty swell of Lance’s lips, feeling goosebumps of anticipation rise along his skin. Slowly they lean towards each other, Lance’s thumbs titling Keith’s jaw to meet in a soft kiss.

It’s slow, languid, giving meaning to feelings that have no words, melting them together. Lance’s hands move assuredly into his hair, holding him firmly in place when he caresses his tongue against lips and Keith lets him in without thought. Strong fingers grip the back of his head, blunt nails spiking his heart rate and turning Lance’s advance into something more. Keith clutches onto Lance’s shoulder, pulling him closer, exhaling a hot breath through his nose as his head begins to spin.

A loud cough rings through the hallway and they jump apart, the scolding yet somewhat amused eyes of Coran’s assistant, Florona, taking in their unkempt state.

“Excuse me,” she says, jerking her chin towards the door of Coran’s office. Both men blushing when they realize they’d barely even made it out before pouncing on each other.

“Right.” Lance clears his throat, recovering first and grabbing Keith’s elbow to sidestep them both out of her way.

As she passes she raises an eyebrow at Keith, clearly surprised to see such a display from the normally - yes he can admit it now - broody man. He gives her a sheepish smile in return, one that has Lance snickering. When the door shuts behind her it turns into a loud peel of laughter.

“Shut up,” Keith admonishes, playfully punching at Lance’s stomach. It only makes him laugh harder, the sound echoing back and duplicating. “Aren’t _you_ supposed to be the one worrying about manners and proper behaviour?”

When Lance’s laughter dies down he wipes at the corner of his eye, hamming it up. “Keeping my composure around you was never something I mastered,” he teases, bringing the pink back full force to Keith’s cheeks. “Besides I don’t think there’s much about me that can be considered proper.”

Keith snorts. “Sure, mister ‘Keith, where are your manners?’ ‘Keith, aren’t you going to introduce me?’”

“That was different,” Lance says with a twinkle in his eye. “That was dull, trapped, 1891 Lance McClain, heir to a tobacco empire. Now I’m exciting, 2018 timer Lance. Off to explore the wonders of time travel with a ravishing lover by my side.”

Choking on his own spit Keith splutters, dropping his face to hide behind sweeping bangs but it’s too late, the damage is done. He tries to walk away but arms wrap around his middle, pulling his back flush against Lance’s chest.

Lance laughs again and places a quick kiss against Keith’s burning neck. “Come now, let’s get this testing out of the way so we can go home and pick up where we left off.”

 _Home_.

Despite the way Keith’s self consciousness has him currently short circuiting he feels his lips start to crack in the biggest, dopiest smile to ever grace him. And right now, he doesn’t even care.

 

* * *

 

They get home a few hours later, after answering what Keith found to be _way_ too intimate questions about their feelings, their love life, their plans. These were things Keith had actively avoided thinking about and the sudden bombardment of them so soon after the revelation that Lance wouldn’t be ripped away from him had left him reeling. He flops onto the bed, arm flung over his eyes and loudly sighs. In the background he can hear Lance banging in the kitchen, making the coffee he promised to bring Keith when ready.

Inhaling deeply into his lungs Keith marvels at the way they fill. Expanding freely with no pressure, the constricting holds he normally feels around his chest gone. Realizing that for the first time in years he feels completely at ease, completely uninhibited. Maybe for the first time ever. A giddy smile unconsciously takes over, heart just a little bit lighter.

Without warning a familiar body crawls it’s way over him, settling on top and leaving barely there kisses along his shoulder and collarbone, a nose nuzzling into the dip at his throat. He lets out an airy breath, fingers curling into Lance’s hair, tugging gently to look at him.

When those glimmering blue eyes meet his own he’s struck, breath leaving in a rush. Lance's irises gleam with colour, practically undulating in pulsing shades of cerulean, aquamarine, deep azure, like the ocean itself come to life. Recognition flares through Keith in a moment of clarity.

“Happy are we?” Lance asks, tilting in to slide their noses together, sinking down to taste Keith’s happiness in a kiss so sweet.

Groaning against him, Keith’s fingers twitch as he tries to lean away. Lance chasing after him, lightly nipping at Keith’s bottom lip before he’s just out of reach. Entrancing eyes questioning.

But he's been thinking about this for awhile, wondering if maybe he can. Feeling lately like anything’s possible with Lance there.

“Can I - I’d like to try something… with you,” Keith stammers out, left breathless when Lance flashes a smirk.

“You can try anything with me, my dear.”

Lance tries to lean in once more but Keith stops him with the hand still in his hair. Lance pouts for a moment, the sad little look tugging at Keith’s heartstrings.

He licks his lips, suddenly nervous. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Slowly he wraps both arms around Lance’s shoulders, holding him close. He stares into Lance’s eyes, willing his body to respond, recalling the way he felt, the scene around him the last time he looked into that halcyon blue field. It trickles over them like a dream, easily sinking into their cores and coaxing them along. It starts as a tingle, a prickling of sensation until they begin to dissolve, gentle winds lifting the hair around their faces. Lance gasps when he realizes they’re timing, the white light surrounding them in a fuzz of soft clouds, cradling them in oblivion.

The light intensifies as the clouds gradually dissipate, a blazing sun kissing their shoulders, fine white sand under their feet. The scent of a salty, sweet breeze floating by. Keith closes his eyes, memories so intense they leave him stunned, flashing by in rapid succession. His fingers dig a little harder into Lance.

Lance who’s astonished and looking around reverentially. “Keith,” he breathes. “Did you mean to bring us here?”

A small beach stretches before them. Gentle waves lapping at the shore of soft, pure sand. Grains so fine it dusts their feet with a sparkling sheen. Dense foliage crawls along the edges, untamed and wild. Tangling around the bases of towering palm trees that lean over the beach, their long shadows casting stripes that reach far over the water. Into the glimmering ocean. But Lance hasn't even noticed yet, too busy staring wide eyed at Keith like somehow he's the real beauty in this paradise.

A little heated by the look on Lance’s face Keith hesitantly nods. “I - I wanted to show you this.”

Gently he releases his hold on Lance’s shoulders, using it to spin him round and face the watery expanse of the sea. Lance’s mouth wordlessly falling open when he finally takes it in. The sun shimmering off a crystal tide, calm waters barely rippling, aside from the surf. It's paled turquoise giving way to deeper shades of teal and navy blue far in the distance.

Stepping beside him Keith temporarily loses his voice, fighting against the bittersweet emotions reaching for purchase. Thankful when Lance breaks the silence and brings him back.

“I've never seen an ocean such as this… it's breathtaking.”

Shyly Keith peeks up from behind his hair to see those same beautiful colours watching him again, still soft, still awed.

“Your eyes.” Keith's lost in them. “It's the same colour as your eyes.”

Pink rising to Lance’s cheeks, small smile curling, he darts his gaze back to the ocean but takes Keith's hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Giving Keith some courage.

“The first time I saw you they felt so familiar. I just couldn't remember why until now.” He exhales, feeling like his rambling has turned into more of a confession.

“You've been here before?”

“Yeah… um, once.”

Lance turns to him fully when hears the hesitation in Keith’s voice, reaching to take his other hand. Their bodies creating a circle, no point where either man ends. A perfect eyebrow raises in question.

“It was just after my mom died. I was put in temporary care but I was alone and scared.”

Lance’s face crumples just a little, the shadows cast from the sun at his back etching his face in sorrow. Normally the look would trigger Keith’s anger but with Lance it's not pity. It's an aching sadness for someone he cares about, an empathy Keith's rarely been shown. Moving a little closer Lance pulls their hands towards him to place a light kiss against his knuckles, thumbs smoothing.

“I was hiding in the closet when I started to time. It hurt more than usual… hurt so much I must have passed out but when I woke up I found myself here. The ocean was like this. So calm and warm. Somehow it just... made me feel safe.” He looks over Lance’s shoulder at the water, that same sense of peace washing over him. “For the first since she died it almost felt like she was still with me.”

“Keith,” Lance whispers.

He knows his eyes are starting to tear but they haven't spilled yet. Lance brushes his fingers along his cheek like they have anyway, Keith leaning into the touch.

“You -” He swallows, voice thick. “You make me feel that way too.”

He's never said this before. Never left himself vulnerable enough to speak like this but somehow Lance makes it okay. Makes him _want_ to say these things, even though he's sure Lance can feel it for himself.

With a soft whine Lance pulls him in for a crushing hug, cradling his face tenderly and placing kisses into his hair. His tracing fingers drop to Keith’s chin, thumb sweeping lightly back and forth, eyes glistening as he leans in. Their lips meet in a gentle caress, worlds of patience and affection opening between them. Keith drinks him in, savouring the salty spray against his lips.

When they break apart Lance touches their foreheads together. “You make me feel the same,” Lance murmurs, warm breath heating Keith down to his toes.

They hold each other's gaze. Arms wrapping around the other in warm, secure embrace. Content in the moment just being together, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Eventually they make their way to a fallen tree, sitting in the sand with their backs against it, pressed tightly to each others sides. They watch the waves ebb and flow, the sun sink below the horizon and the brilliant colours it leaves in its wake. Talking of everything and nothing, always listening, always learning. When it starts to get dark and the air turns cold Lance leans his cheek to Keith’s.

“I like it here.” A light kiss meets his ear. “Thank you.”

Keith feels the meaning behind those words because he thinks them too. _Thank you for sticking with me… for choosing me… for loving me._ The arm around his waist begins to travel, trailing lightly down his side and causing Keith’s breath to stutter when it slowly makes its way back up. Pin pricks left dancing under his skin. He's met with eyes darker than usual when he looks at Lance. The man claiming his lips the moment their eyes meet.

It's still sweet, still tender, but with an ember that smolders just below. An ember that blazes to fire when Keith parts his lips a few kisses later, giving back just as much passion as he receives. The trailing fingers turning more urgent, tugging on his arm, inviting him closer. He crawls into Lance’s lap like it's already muscle memory.

Things only overheat, and quickly after that. With thoughts swirling and every one of them breathing _Lance_ , the man beneath him breaks for a second, laboured breath demanding.

“Take me home.”

Focusing on the queen bed with messy sheets and a creaky spring they're travelling through time without fanfare, barely even breaking apart when they land upon the mattress. Keith briefly looking up to make sure they're really in his room and not some random place somewhere across town or worse. Lance takes advantage by nipping his way along Keith's jaw, using the distraction to ruck his shirt up before it's thrown over his head.

They've done this a few times but the need and urgency between them still feels like it's their first. Expect Keith no longer has to endure twenty minutes of hearing Lance gush and fawn over how much better condoms are in the future.

This time Lance’s shirt quickly gets torn off as well and they both whine under their breath when Keith rolls off to remove their pants, mouths still connected in increasingly sloppy amor. He's just as fast to climb back on top once all the layers between them are removed, hovering over Lance and wondering if he’ll ever stop melting at the sight of having this stunning man between his thighs. As though they’re thinking the same thing Lance leans up to cup the back of his neck, tangling long fingers into the dark strands of his hair and bringing him down for more.

They moan together, Keith sucking Lance's bottom lip into his mouth and pressing their lower bodies flush. A palm runs down the length of his back, charged and electric, to grab at his ass. Kneading gently and making him shake. The hand in his hair joins the other, fingers searching across his skin, moving ever closer to the puckered muscle he almost feels pulsing with want.

“Lance,” he growls. A plea and a warning.

A soft chuckle puffs against his lips, one hand leaving to search in the nightstand.

“So impatient.”

To make his true impatience known he grinds down aggressively, enjoying the way the smirk he feels at his mouth falls off into a popped open ‘o’. Lance's head dropping back on the pillow. He hears the click and drives his tongue deep into Lance’s mouth, hips working in small movements because he just can't help it.

The first touch of a cool, slicked finger at his entrance has him groaning again. Lance’s name falling from his lips when it pushes up to the first knuckle, the slight burn throbbing in his swollen cock. He likes it. How his body gives way, how the careful ministrations of Lance’s fingers always make him quiver.

Lance is slow and methodical, only adding more fingers when he feels Keith start to relax. When Keith's moans turn shameless and he pushes back against the fingers already inside him.

“Lance,” he says again, voice high and needy. “ _Please_.”

Shifting underneath him Keith hears the crackle of foil and lifts up his hips, whimpering when fingers slide out. But Lance shushes him sweetly, rubbing his nose against Keith's and pecking him lightly on the lips, while his hands are otherwise occupied. The click of the bottle is heard once more and then Lance is guiding him back, holding the base of his cock steady as Keith eagerly lines up.

His chest is already red and splotchy but it spreads further as he starts to sink down, mouth open and eyes screwed shut. The drag, the push and pull against his sensitive rim illuminating that pleasure centre, causing him to gasp and tremble. Nimbly he bounces, his body opening with each downward drop, taking Lance in deeper. Deep enough to feel the way he fills him so good, _so right_. Throwing his head back, he groans when Lance's cock is fully inside, leaning down to suck at Lance’s chest, taking a moment just to breathe.

The smell of the ocean still clings to Lance. The heady, slightly sulfurous scent relaxing his taut muscles, allowing him to sink even further. In a lustful haze he barely notices the hands tracing along his arms until they’re pressing mildly against his chest, raising him up to peer at the unfairly handsome face below him.

“Okay?” Lance asks, clearly trying to reign in his eagerness, eyes blown out and panting heavy breaths. The gallant plight squeezing Keith's heart when he tenderly tucks Keith's hair behind an ear. With a shaky nod he kisses the tip of a light brown nose, feeling how Lance seeps into every crack, spreading his vivid ardor into the darkest places. The ones he thought could never be loved.

Sitting once more Keith moves his hips in tiny circles, pressing a hand against Lance’s sternum and groaning a breathless, “ _yeah_ ,” into the darkness. Lance’s hands grip reflexively into his waist, guiding his movements and encouraging with his own small moan of appreciation. Eyes trail down Keith’s body in a look so ferociously wanton it’s like a physical touch sliding across his skin.

He starts out slow, a torturous rolling that teases and rubs, just missing the right spots. The noises falling from Lance’s mouth almost sounding like a dying man in agony. When Keith picks up the pace, he shifts on to powerful thighs to rise and drop with greater force, urging them onwards and driving them both crazy. He feels it start to build, low at first, but uncoiling with an intensity he’s never felt before.

Legs starting to shake, arms getting weak he collapses, chest pressed flat against Lance, panting into heated skin and mouthing against contracting muscles, hips never stopping. Lance filling not only his body but his entire mind, his entire _being_. With a wicked need his eyes crack open to watch the gorgeous man beneath him come undone.

Lance’s mouth hangs open in wordless abandon, nothing but gasps and moans escaping past plush, swollen lips. Sweat drips off Keith's brow and settles in the hollow of Lance’s throat, Keith darting out a tongue to lap at it. The groan that vibrates between them could’ve come from either man but it's Lance it spurs into action.

In a sudden spin Keith finds himself pinned, back flush against the mattress with Lance’s weight firmly keeping him in place. His gasp of surprise gets swallowed in Lance’s desperately seeking mouth as he thrusts in hard, taking Keith's cry for his own. Fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, hitching it up and prompting Keith to wrap both legs hard around Lance’s pistoning hips. The punishing pounds, the frenzied clawing, the quivering depth steals his vision, lost stars shooting through his body, chasing release.

He's so close, almost there. Just needs a little - oh.

Oh god… s-shit -

“Lance… _a-ah-ahh!_ ”

The instant Lance’s buried hand grabs his leaking cock it’s done. Back arching, thighs locking in an iron grip, head thrown back and clutching Lance’s biting teeth to his neck, he comes. Hot liquid spilling like it's his very soul escaping. Blown apart with nothing left but shock after shock of endless, searing pleasure.

He's not even aware that Lance is coming until the rushing blood leaves his ears and he hears the man swearing above him. His cry ringing out, bouncing off the walls. Too strung out to do much else Keith grabs his head and purrs into sweaty brown hair. Never letting go.

“Fuck, _Lance_ ,” he whispers and Lance groans as if he wants to go another round.

But then he's slowly pulling out, Keith shivering at the loss of him, only to flop most of his weight back down. A dead fish trapping Keith underneath. Keith chuckles, too tired to care, lazily stroking his fingers into the soft locks at Lance’s nape. For a time anyway, until he starts to get hot and sticky but Lance still hasn't moved aside from the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage as his heart slows down.

“Lance.” He pushes against a limp shoulder. “Get up.”

“U ruin-t mphf.”

“What?”

Untucking his face from Keith’s neck Lance speaks again. “Can't move. You've ruined me.”

Laughter huffing automatically Keith pushes at the shoulder once more, attempting to wriggle his way free, finally throwing elbows when he makes little progress.

“Oww, okay,” Lance mumbles, throwing himself onto his back, starfished across the mattress.

Keith wants to be annoyed, he really does, but at the moment it's too endearing and he's quickly rolling back to place a few kisses against Lance’s jaw before bending down to kiss at the sore spots across his ribs.

“Mmm, better.”

Smiling, he leaves one more lingering kiss, just over Lance’s heart, before pushing off to go clean up. Lance's groans of protest and grabby hands flailing after him.

“Would you at least pass a tissue?”

He hears just as he passes them by, smirking to himself as he reaches the door, shutting it firmly behind him. It's muffled, but he's pretty sure he hears a whining, “Keeeiiiith,” just behind the door.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later they're passing quietly down the hallway as Keith tries to fix his hair, straightening his shirt and praying the mark Lance tried leaving in the elevator isn't too noticeable. Lance is just as disheveled beside him but looking much more pleased with himself. They should probably have more restraint at this point but they're still new and there's something so maddeningly captivating, almost magnetic about Lance and really… why is he even making excuses? His boyfriend is hot as fuck and if he wants to touch him inappropriately in public elevators then that's what he's gonna do damn it.

Slightly ahead of him Lance doesn’t even pause when they get to Hunk’s door, just walks on through like it’s his second home. Truthfully it kind of is. Pidge is seated at the kitchen island, talking animatedly with her hands while Hunk nods along from his place at the stove. Both looking up with large grins towards the newcomers. Keith doesn’t miss the way Pidge does a double take, eyes sparking mischeviously before returning to her conversation with Hunk. He doesn’t even have a chance to cringe before he spots Shiro out the corner of his eye, mouth curling upwards automatically.

“Hey,” he says, clasping Shiro’s hand and leaning in for the classic one armed hug with obligatory back pat.

“Hey,” Shiro smiles back warmly, look turning more devious when they break apart. “You’ve got a little something…” He peers down, swiping a thumb across the still pulsing spot on his neck Lance’s mouth had recently attached itself to.

Warmth rushes to his face just as Lance snickers next him, quickly morphing it into a cough at the glare Keith sends his way.

“Hunk my good man, do you need some help?” Lance calls, springing away before Keith can hit him like he wants to.

Watching the whole thing unfold Shiro laughs unreserved, throwing an arm around Keith’s shoulders with a squeeze and, “come on.” Pulling him into the fold.

Dinner at Hunk’s was quickly becoming a regular thing, the big guy giving Keith a nod as he leans up next to Pidge who’s also laughing quietly under her breath at the colour still high on his cheeks.

“Good to see you too,” Keith grumbles.

“Oh come on,” she smirks. “I'm happy for you.”

And even through the smirk Keith can sense that joy. Not only from Pidge but from Shiro and Hunk as well. These friends that had accepted Lance so seamlessly from day one. That had celebrated their relationship with something like exasperated fondness, a weight of their own lifted in the process. As much as Keith and Lance seemed to fit together, they slotted in just as well with the others. Completely effortlessly. Keith wonders if maybe this is what it's like to have a family.

Playfully he bumps shoulders with Pidge and grins, sharing a moment until Lance is shoving plates and cutlery at them.

“Go make yourselves useful.”

Pidge sticks out her tongue and Lance mirrors it so quickly that it's not until they're sitting down to eat that Keith notices it's out of place. The Lance he'd first met in New Orleans would never have done such a thing to a woman, at least not publicly, but everyday he slips a little more into modern life. The first time he'd said ‘meh’ when describing something to Keith he'd stared at Lance for a solid minute before realizing why he felt so giddy. 

He feels it again when the man in question takes his first bite of Hunk’s turkey manicotti.

“Oh my god, Hunk,” Lance practically moans. “This is soooo good.”

Shiro notices it too. “Did you just say oh my god?”

Still with his mouth full Lance grins, chewing a few times before swallowing because apparently he's not a total modern heathen yet. “I quite like the way people in the future talk. It’s more casual and relaxed. Feels a little more personable.”

“I’ve been teaching him some things,” Hunk pipes in. “He picks it up quick.”

“Well you’ve definitely got texting down,” Pidge smirks.

Two days after what she calls a supremely traumatic visit - the night Lance had confessed everything to Keith - Pidge had shown up again, phone in hand with apps loaded and ready. Lance had smiled so wide with his blue eyes sparkling that Keith’s heart almost literally skipped a few beats. Since then he’d been a monster, texting the gang any and all random thoughts. Keith won’t admit it but he still gets butterflies every time he gets the kissy face emoji for no reason at all, which is actually quite a lot.

“Lol.” Lance punctuates with a cheeky wink. “I do enjoy it. The fact that words and information can be sent magically from one device to another is incredible. I’d be a fool not to take advantage.”

“You’ve travelled through time and it’s texting that blows your mind?” Keith ribs, lightheartedly quirking an eyebrow.

Pausing for a second Lance meets Keith’s eyes meaningfully, boring into his own. “There are _many_ things here that I find incredible.”

A silent, “oooo,” comes from Hunk’s direction and Keith might as well get used to being three shades darker at all times if he's gonna keep hanging around Lance like this. Honestly though, keeping Lance is all he wants so… beet red face it is.

After dinner they pile into the living room, Shiro sinking into the cushions of Hunk’s large L shaped sectional, Keith and Lance settling onto the smaller section of it. Pidge and Hunk stand in front of a floor to wall bookshelf arguing over which movie to watch next. They'd taken it upon themselves to educated Lance on cult movie classics, quickly learning that horror films were definitely a no.

“I don't understand why anyone would enjoy this,” Lance had complained after they'd watched the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Privately Keith had enjoyed the way Lance clung to him and buried his face against Keith at every scary part but he had not enjoyed being woken up in the middle of the night by a frantic Lance asking him to check out the terrifying noise coming from the kitchen. It had been the fridge.

The two movie aficionados were currently arguing between Kill Bill Vol 1 and Fight Club. Pidge making the case that Lance needs to see more women handling their shit and Hunk insisting that the combination of Chuck Palahniuk and David Fincher was something that could never be topped. Both arguments were sound but Keith knew Pidge would win out in the end. That girl could make a solid case for anything, presenting her opinions the same way she’d defended her thesis.

Meanwhile Lance is idly running his fingers up the back of Keith’s neck, playing with the fine strands of hair at his nape while his elbow leans propped on the back of the couch. He seems entirely focused on the verbal fight at the bookshelf and Keith curses the fact that this totally unconscious move already has his interest spiking. To distract himself he turns to Shiro, surprised to see the man’s head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut.

“You tired Shiro?” 

“Hmmm?” Shiro doesn't even open his eyes.

“Long night? Or...”

Lolling his head towards Keith, Shiro cracks one eye open only to have them both scrunching up. “Yee-aaah,” he says around a yawn. “Was out with Alfor.”

“What?!”

Lance and Keith bolt upwards, the former leaning slightly forward. “You're hanging out with Allura’s father?”

A few weeks ago Shiro had finally admitted they were dating and the mystery woman was revealed. They actually have plans to go with Shiro the next time he visits, Keith wanting to meet the person that could make Shiro as happy as he's ever seen him.

“He's a good kid,” Shiro says, shifting a little uncomfortably. Defensively.

Keith cuts through the bullshit. “And does Allura know?”

Shiro narrows his eyes at Keith, knowing full well that he already knows the answer by his body language alone. “Not exactly.”

It has Keith raising an eyebrow.

“I mean she didn't know who I was when we met so I figured that if Alfor never told her it's not really my place to say.”

There's no point arguing against that. Keith knowing all too well the weird way timing leaves you questioning things that have happened against the realities of the time you currently find yourself in. It's not always the easiest to navigate.

“Besides Alfor and I are hardly friends. He just asked me to check out this robot fighting league he's a part of. That could be the only time we ever do something together.”

Pidge snorts crashing onto the couch next to Shiro, triumphantly holding Kill Bill in hand. “Please, Alfor hero worships you.”

“He does not.” Shiro protests, but Keith can see the red rising from his shirt collar. “He probably just appreciates the fact that I don’t boss him around all the time.”

“He’s my intern, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Yeah I dunno man,” Hunk comes to rest on the other side of Shiro, pulling out the remote for the tv. “If you weren’t already dating his daughter I’d be wondering if there wasn’t something going on between the two of _you_.”

Shiro splutters, entire face now turning red while Lance bursts into laughter beside Keith, his body crowding in as he draws his arm around Keith’s shoulders. His laughter shakes both of them, shakes Keith right down to his core where the warmth that’s been spreading since the night they first touched has become so familiar he can’t remember a time when he didn’t feel it. The smile that stretches his lips is so genuine it almost hurts.

Across from them Pidge is doubled over in laughter while Hunk pats Shiro a few times on the back.

“Seriously though, you should come by the lab on Friday. We’ll finally be field testing Rover.” Hunk says to Shiro, good naturedly steering the conversation elsewhere.

Instantly Pidge perks up, laughter petering out into more of a titter. “Yeah, you guys should all come. We’re going to attempt retrieving a timer.” She winks at Keith. “In a controlled setting this time.” 

Lance’s hold around Keith becomes a little more protective at Pidge’s words. When Keith had finally admitted how painful and unnatural it'd felt to be pulled through time by Lance and Rover the man had taken it hard. Even though they all knew it’d saved Keith’s life, Lance lamented causing him so much pain. But they’d get through it. All Keith could do was give Lance the same love and forgiveness he’d been shown, time and again. Surprisingly to Keith it came natural. With Lance it was easy to do.

Now he melts a little more into said man, hand dropping to his thigh for a light, grounding squeeze. He turns to discreetly place a kiss against Lance’s neck before dropping to rest his head on a pointy shoulder. Smiling to himself when Lance leans in to return the kiss to the top of his head.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lance says and the tenderness flowing through their bond makes Keith wonder if he’s even talking about Rover.

Fleetingly Keith closes his eyes, palm creeping slowly to wrap around Lance’s waist, shifting to lie more comfortably against him. A weightless sigh escapes his chest and when he opens his eyes he finds the rest of the room all watching. With the soft looks they’re getting he briefly worries that he might be losing his edge. But when Lance presses closer, smelling like sunlight and clean earth he finds he really doesn't mind.

“So...” Shiro starts, eyeing them with a secretively pleased look. “Am I going to get my air mattress back anytime soon?”

Keith snorts when Lance sits a little straighter, looking chagrined and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Well…”

“I think you're gonna have to pry it from his cold dead hands,” Keith cuts in.

“Huh?”

The mattress still sits deflated in the corner of their living room, blankets and pillows still piled around. Keith had tried to clean them up once only to have Lance physically hold him back, demanding he leave it there. He then dodged all questions relating to it and eventually distracted Keith by throwing on an episode of The Walking Dead. Ever since then Lance has been acting weirdly protective around that corner and Keith hasn’t wanted to push it.

“I've just…” Lance struggles to find his words. “Perhaps, grown sentimental towards it.”

Keith scoffs. “You hated that thing.”

“I did not.”

“You literally bitched about it for at least ten minutes every morning.”

“Yes well,” Lance looks away, suddenly bashful. When he speaks again the words are hushed. “I would've slept on it forever if it meant I could stay close to you.”

There’s probably some reaction coming from their friends but Keith doesn't hear any of it, too lost in the way Lance quietly avoids his eyes but leaves his hand open for the taking. Without a word Keith slides their palms together, entwining their fingers.

Soon after the movie gets turned on, everyone quietly settling into an ease so routine, so soothing that even the shrill theme song and bloodied violence can’t take away the sense of tranquil belonging that settles over Keith like a balm.

He breathes it in and lets it soak. Lets himself believe that he can have this, that he deserves this.

 

* * *

 

Rays of sunshine beam through the window, lighting the kitchen in a warm, cheerful glow. Empty plates on the kitchen table reflecting tiny beams of light across the room. The chill of winter outside slowly receding. From his place near the window Keith can see small green buds just starting to form on the barren branches of trees that line the street below their apartment. The air feels sweeter, twittering from birds brave enough to come home early filters through the single paned glass. Spring is close, bringing with it new beginnings.

“More coffee my dear?” Lance asks as he leans over his shoulder to refill the empty cup before him. The question rhetorical at this point.

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, pulled from his musings to gently furrow his brows at the pet name. “But I wish you wouldn't call me that.”

“What? My dear?”

Silently he nods.

Lance’s own eyebrows scrunch, his mouth pursing adorably. “But why?”

“Well… it's what you called me the first time we met...” Keith pauses not sure how to continue.

“Which is precisely why I adore it.”

“It’s just… sometimes it makes me feel - I dunno - like you think I'm something else…. like a housewife or something.”

Lance’s booming laugh echoes through the kitchen, might even startle some of the birds outside their window. “That you most certainly are not.” 

Lance moves a little closer, placing the coffee pot carefully down on the table to give Keith his full attention.

Keith shifts a little uncomfortably under his gaze. “I just want to make sure that you're okay with _this_.” He gestures between the two of them. “You're with me, Lance. _A man_.”

“Believe me,” Lance says with a wink, smirk evident in his voice. “My heart and the ache in my bottom know it.” 

Keith feels his cheeks burn as an image from last night flashes in his mind. Lance flushed and bent over the arm of their couch as Keith pressed into him, panting and watching the beads of sweat pool in the small of his beautiful tan back. Chants of _Keith_ and _please_ and _more_ falling from his swollen lips.

“I love _you,_ my dear.” Lance leans down to peer into his face, reaching for his hand.

“Raspy voice.” He dips down to kiss Keith’s hand.

“Broad chest.” A kiss on his shoulder.

“Firm backside.” He wiggles his eyebrows and brings their heads together, mouths hovering millimeters apart.

“And all.” Lips meet lips and Lance pushes his tongue in, making the extra effort to be lewd.

”Stop!” Keith gasps, pushing him back and wiping the excessive slobber from his mouth. “I get it.”

“Do you now?” Lance asks, taking Keith's face in his hands and flashing a brilliant smile, so filled with warmth and affection that he can't be doubted.

“Yeah,” Keith grins back a little dazedly. “I love you too.”

They stare at each other a few moments longer, each drinking the other in with their eyes until Lance finally sits at the table. A companionable silence falls between them and Keith suddenly has trouble believing this is his life. That he’s fallen asleep and woken up next to this man for months now. This man who filled fractures in him he hadn't known existed, who taught him how to control his timing and became the anchor he needed so badly in life. Who loves and accepts him for all that he is and who gave him the courage to give that love back without fear.

For probably the first time ever he feels excitement in the mornings and plans for the future and a deep seated happiness throughout his days. He feels safe, he feels complete, he feels _home_.

“So what did you want to do today?” Lance again breaks through his thoughts.

An impish grin spreads across Keith's face, he’s been planning this for awhile. “I thought maybe we could go to New York... back in 1993.”

“That's specific. How come?” There's a playful mistrust in those blue eyes.

“Remember how you got to see Madonna when we were in Seattle?”

“How can I forget? It was amazing.”

“Well I never told you then but Nirvana was also playing that day and ever since I've been dying to see them.”

“No, the smelly teen band? Keeeiiittthhh.” Lance whines like a petulant child.

He can't keep his smile from growing. “Yes them, but I promise you'll like this.”

“And why is that?” The pout on Lance’s face is slowly killing him.

“Because this show is unplugged, quieter. Some of their most popular songs came from this show’s album.”

Lance is still pouting.

“Please Lance,” he tries giving him his own sad puppy eyes, willing them to well with tears and everything.

“Stop that,” Lance shouts, dramatically throwing a hand over his eyes. “You know I can’t take your sad face.”

Puppy eyes faltering for a moment as his smile threatens to shine through once more, Keith’s just able to reign it back in before Lance peeks from between his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lance groans. “Fine. We can go see your grungy band.”

When Keith breaks out into laughing victory, Lance looks momentarily stunned, suddenly leaning in to kiss Keith repeatedly in sweet little pecks to his lips. Keith’s eyes still dancing with cheer when they part.

“But we must do what I want for at least the next few months.”

“Few months?” Keith asks, startled. “Why a few months?”

“There’s so much I want to do my dear. I want to go back to the future and visit with Allura.” Those two were fast becoming friends. “Then I want to see a play at the Globe Theater, find out why everyone had such big hair in the 1980’s, watch the first moon landing on tv in real time, be one of the first people to climb the Eiffel Tower…”

“Whoa, sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.” For some reason this fact pleases Keith to no end.

“I have. I could fill our days with enough itinerary to last forever.”

“At this rate I’m not even sure we’ll fit it all in,” Keith teases.

There’s one more thing Keith wants to do but when they’d talked about going back to Lance’s time to see his family, Lance had been hesitant, worried that they'd never be able to accept Keith and their relationship. Keith saw the way it hurt Lance to say it but, wanting to give him time, had said nothing further.

“Keith,” Lance clicks his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “We’re timers, we can do anything we want.”

Reaching across the table Lance takes his hand. “After all...” he pauses, cheesy grin in place.

And Keith knows what he's going to say. Is already cringing before the words even leave Lance’s mouth.

“We have all the _time_ in the world.”

Groaning Keith rolls his eyes, but it doesn't stop him from leaning in to kiss the shit eating smirk from Lance’s face. Lingering a little longer than necessary since he really shouldn't be rewarding that line.

But he nuzzles his nose against him, pulling back to see the love shining in those blue, blue eyes that he adores so much. He lifts a hand to brush his fingers along those perfect cheekbones, sweeping into soft brown locks. Running a thumb lightly along that pouty lower lip and feeling the corners of his own lips turn up he can't help but think -

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to any/everyone who's taken the time to read this thing and leave such nice comments. It's been awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a [playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/shiverslightly/playlist/44h7EmtgnVsv2ofU9ZwpIH?si=-8tWA7nvQ_mdvCAeKj3mlQ) if you want to check it out!
> 
> And check out [**this amazing artwork**](https://shiverslightly.tumblr.com/post/172323499142/keith-stares-intent-on-the-man-in-front-of-him) that @seikamoomoo did.
> 
> And of course [**this beautiful scene**](http://allexche.tumblr.com/post/175583770542/commission-for-shiverslightly-thank-you-for) by @allexche.
> 
> tumblr: [shiverslightly.tumblr.com](https://shiverslightly.tumblr.com/)


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